


It All Started With Quidditch (It Always Does)

by MandyinKC



Series: Of Love & Quidditch [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Family, Friendship, Love, child birth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-05-28 09:19:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15045839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MandyinKC/pseuds/MandyinKC
Summary: After the war, Katie Bell became Katie Wood and started a family. Just when she thinks life couldn't be better, a wee surprise turns everything upside down.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> First: Thank you to my betas, Nightfuries and poetintraining576. I was paired with them through Project Team Beta and they both post on Fanfiction. They worked really hard to get this story in shape and it is 100% better because of their efforts and guidance. So, thank you again, ladies. (Check out their stuff and leave nice reviews.)
> 
> Second: Thank you to keeptheotherone for reading the prologue and giving me feedback. (Sorry for torturing you.) She posts on Fanfiction and AO3. If you are not reading her stuff, then what are you waiting for?
> 
> Third: This is for percychased (who also posts lots of KBOW stories on Fanfiction). Ages ago, I did a gift giving exchange for her. The prompt was "first class" and it was supposed to be a Katie/Oliver story. I never did write anything for that prompt, but while brainstorming for it I came up with the nugget that became this story.
> 
> Finally: This story is a bit different. For starters, it's first person, which is a POV that I don't often use because I don't really like it. However, this story demanded to be told from Katie's perspective. And also, I apparently hate myself… I mean, I felt I should challenge myself. Also, I feel as though a lot of my stories revolve around grief, but this story is quite the opposite.
> 
> One more thing…
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or world in which they live.

I moaned into my husband's chest as I rode out another contraction. Its hold loosened just enough for me to take a deep breath before the next one came. The spasm rippled through my abdomen and down my legs. I gripped Oliver's arms tighter, and I turned my body into the pain, like I would roll on my broomstick to keep from falling. It was getting hard to tell when one contraction ended and another began.

"Focus on one spot," Oliver murmured. I stared at the U for United on his blue t-shirt. We were so close that my world had narrowed down to the circle of his arms. "Now take a deep breath and let it out slowly. One…two…three…"

His voice kept me focused as I endured the contraction.

The two of us were shut away in our bedroom. I was dimly aware of the first rays of dawn sneaking in through the window. The world outside, I knew, was covered in what would likely be the last snow of the season, but inside our room, a small fire crackled in the grate to keep the chill at bay. The warm golds, reds, and blues of the bedspread gave the old room a snug, happy feeling. Not too far away, probably in the kitchen, were the midwife and Oliver's mother, Roberta. In the cottage down the lane, with their Aunt Catriona, were our sons Bobby and Rory. And they were about to be joined by a third little lad anytime now, judging by how quickly the contractions were coming.

When the pain passed, I closed my eyes and pictured another plump, dark-haired baby boy like his brothers. I couldn't bring myself to hope for a girl this time around. Not after having two fat, wiggly wizards placed in my arms. It would be a third lad for us, fourth if you counted Oliver's godson (and I did).

"You are doing great, lass," Oliver murmured. He rocked me back and forth on my feet. "You're so strong."

The respite only lasted a moment before another contraction came on. Oliver was calling for me to focus again, but all I wanted to do was squat. I grunted something incoherent. Somehow, he got the message and helped me into a more comfortable position.

"I think it's time," I rasped when I found my voice again.

"Mum!" Oliver yelled, and I winced at his Quidditch-pitch-level hollering. I looked up at him; he was smiling sheepishly. "Right. I should probably _go_ get her, then?"

I managed a weak grin at my clueless husband, but it quickly turned into a grimace. Oliver steadied me until the contraction passed. Then he helped me over to the bed where I could squat with the assistance of the footboard until he returned.

I breathed deeply, trying to gather all my strength and concentration for what I knew was coming. This was the room where both of my children had been born. My husband and his brothers had been birthed in this room as well. Countless generations of Wood men had been brought into life in this room by women strong (or mad) enough to take on this family. At that moment, I could feel their spirit and the strength of their magic humming around me. It filled me with a new energy.

Then my mother-in-law was at my side, taking my arm and helping me up. Oliver was on the other side, and the two of them half-walked, half-carried me over to the birthing stool that the midwife had brought out, yards of white toweling spread out beneath it. Roberta gave me a bracing smile. She was a blessing in all this: no-nonsense, tough and tender all at once. My own mother, a Muggle, was a nervous wreck during the deliveries. She was accustomed to in-hospital births with doctors for assistance and needles for pain and operating rooms for emergencies. Wands, birthing stools and midwives were a little more than her nerves could take.

Once they sat me on the stool, Oliver knelt behind me to act as a backrest, and the midwife checked my progress. If she told me that I wasn't fully dilated yet, I was going to kick her.

"Och, lassie," the old witch exclaimed as she pushed my nightgown up above my swollen belly, "yer laborin' hard now, ain't ya? Let's see where we're at, shall we?"

The woman was as ancient as the hills and had delivered every witch and wizard in three counties for the last eighty years. I often suspected that she put on the country accent as a part of a show. I'd seen pictures of her in Ravenclaw blue and bronze looking as urbane and sophisticated as Narcissa Malfoy, but I could understand how that might be off-putting for rural Scottish witches.

"Aye, yer ready," the midwife confirmed. "On the next contraction—"

"I want Roberta," I said impulsively, surprising myself with the strength behind my words.

Neither witch looked surprised nor put-off. While the two witches traded places, I leaned my head back against my husband's strong, familiar shoulder and slipped my hands into his. Oliver murmured his love in my ear and pushed the hair from my forehead. Another contraction came, and I arched into it, breathing out. _Stay focused,_ I told myself _._

"On the next contraction, Katie," Roberta said from where she knelt between my legs, "I want you to push."

The next wave of pain came, and I pushed against it, amazed as always how the act of pushing relieved the agony of the contraction.

"Good," Roberta said, hand on my belly. "I can already see him coming. He should crown with the next push."

The next push did indeed bring the burning sensation of crowning. I gasped at the pain; this was the worst bit. Saying nothing, Oliver's arms tightened around me. My eyes were scrunched and tearing, but I could see the midwife pass a bottle to Roberta, who poured the potion over me and massaged it into delicate skin that was under so much pressure, easing it back, giving it extra elasticity. Then she waved her wand, murmuring the spells that would ease the pain. A cool sensation settled between my legs.

I let out a relieved breath.

"All right, love," Roberta said, "next push and we should have the head out. Ready?"

I nodded, past the point of coherent speech.

The next contraction came. Leaning forward, teeth gritted, I bore down with a long, low growl. Roberta was counting (seven, eight, nine), then my baby's head pushed past my pubic bone, sudden and relieving like popping a balloon. There was another popping sensation as Roberta guided the shoulders out, and my baby slipped from my body into the capable hands of his grandmother. A lusty cry filled the whole room. Grinning and panting, I collapsed back against Oliver who was kissing my cheek and saying how much he loved me.

Euphoria flooded through me, and I giggled breathlessly. I had done it. Oliver and I had made this baby, and I had grown him inside of me, then I brought him safely into this world. I was powerful. I was a warrior, and I could have fought a battle in that moment if I had to.

"Mum?" Oliver's voice in my ear was full of concern.

The smile faded from my face as I looked at my mother-in-law, my gooey and bloody baby still in her hands. She was looking at him with an odd expression. My heart came to a screeching halt, my chest constricted. I pushed away from Oliver, ready to snatch my baby from his grandmother.

Roberta's eyes slowly traveled from my baby to lock with mine in wide shock.


	2. Chapter One

_Conception_

"ETHAN WRIGHT HAS THE SNITCH! PUDDLEMERE IS LEAGUE CHAMPION! PUDDLEMERE IS LEAGUE CHAMPION!"

The announcer was screaming the news into the stadium, and my heart was thrumming in my chest to the rhythm of his words. My eyes were still on Oliver where he sat before the rings, the last Quaffle he caught still tucked against his body (I had a feeling that was going to make its way into our library at home). He was motionless, hovering before the rings listlessly. Then he pumped his fist in the air and did a loop-de-loop.

I threw my arms in the air, yelling his name.

"Mummy, Mummy, did you see that?" Rory called from atop his Uncle Alex's shoulders. I could already see the flare of determination in his eyes that told me he would be trying that exact maneuver on his toy broomstick first thing the next day.

"I did," I told him, then made my stern face and wagged my finger at him. "But I don't want to see you do that, young man."

"Okay, Mummy," he chirped, lying through his three-year-old teeth.

I reached up and kissed him noisily on the cheek. I would have to check my supply of Skele-gro.

Oliver and the team were flying victory laps around the pitch to the crowd's roar of approval. I caught my breath as I watched Oliver take another turn. He was leaning back in the mount of his broomstick, that Quaffle still tucked against his body, and he was lightly gripping the shaft with his other hand. His broad shoulders were loose, and he was swinging one leg back and forth idly. That was how he flew on those rare occasions it was just the two of us. No little laddies to keep from plummeting to the ground, no Quidditch, no cares in the world. Just Oliver and me, and we always ended up making love after. Simply watching him made my skin prickle with anticipation. Oliver pushed one hand through his dark hair and the urge to kiss him was so strong that my thighs clenched and my breasts felt heavy and tingly.

A hand on my shoulder made me jump.

"Easy there."

I looked up at Percy Weasley, who was giving me a rather amused smirk. He'd been sitting with his siblings, their assorted significant others and several of their various offspring a few aisles above. I looked back to where Angelina and Ginny sat, arm-in-arm, in matching Holyhead Harpies t-shirts. Harpies, indeed. I'd threatened to charm their hair blue in support of Oliver when I'd first seen them.

"You should go," Percy shouted over the din.

"Uncle Percy!"

We were interrupted by my five-year-old, Bobby, who happened to be Percy's godson. Beaming at the boy, Percy lifted him up. Percy had taken Bobby and Rory, as well as Oliver's godson Campbell, up to the Weasley section several times to visit with Teddy Lupin and Pax Lathrop. Teddy was rather famously Harry Potter's godson, but Pax was not quite Charlie Weasley's adopted son. One time or another, Percy's wife Audrey had explained it to me, but I still wasn't sure of the connection.

"You should go to him," Percy said again, nodding towards the pitch where the team was disappearing into the tunnel that led to the change rooms. "He'll want to see you." He smirked knowingly again, then added, "I can keep the family occupied and get them to the family meeting room."

I looked over my shoulder at Oliver's parents, his younger brother Alex, sister-in-law Catriona and the boys, then back at Percy with a wide smile.

"You are the best best mate ever, Percy Weasley," I told him, already making my way past him into the aisle.

"Yeah, yeah," he said and waved me off, "but I expect free babysitting for this. And don't forget—"

But I didn't hear whatever he was going to say next.

oOo

I met no one in the Wives' Stairwell as I hurried down to the change rooms. The Puddlemere stadium was nearly as old as the team and was an interesting mix of the ancient and the modern. The training rooms, offices and change rooms below were state-of-the-art. There were even innovations that I knew came from the Muggle world. But this stairwell was dank, dark, a bit creepy and bloody convenient. So named because only spouses (not girlfriends or boyfriends, mind you) were given access, it was hidden behind an old portrait of the leering 1623 championship team and led into an antechamber near the change rooms.

It was always a little disorienting to step out of the dark stairwell into the bright corridor, but I was not disappointed. Oliver was waiting there with a large grin. He'd shed his pads, but he was still in his Puddlemere kit. With his disheveled hair and sweat gleaming on his skin, he was bloody gorgeous. Giggling, I launched myself into his arms, and he caught me easily against his broad, heaving chest. One big hand slid along the back of my thigh to hook under my knee as I rubbed against him, already feeling breathless and melty in all the right places.

Kissing me hard and quick, Oliver nipped at my bottom lip, then sucked on it lightly. We broke the kiss in a gush of laughter. Peppering his jaw and neck with kisses, I moaned as he backed me against the wall. He pinned me there with his hips and I could feel the ridge of him against my thigh.

"You ever shag a League Champion, Mrs. Wood?" he asked with a smirk.

"Can't say that I have," I replied.

"I can fix that."

"Maybe we should find a nice, private spot?" I suggested even as we collapsed on a nearby bench.

oOo

The next morning Oliver and I woke up in a hotel room hung over from the previous night's celebrations. It took a combination of strong coffee, Trainer Spitwell's Miracle Hangover Potion for the Hard Drinking Athlete, and a Pepper Up potion to make us almost human again. A hearty breakfast of eggs and bacon returned Oliver to his normal spirits, but just the sight of egg yolk made my stomach rebel. I stuck to tea and toast, thank you very much.

After checking out, we sent our bags and Oliver's gear ahead by Floo. We were finally ready to return home where there would be a second, tamer family celebration of the Championship.

Oliver Disapparated us onto the edge of the Wood family property. Red's Wood was a centuries' old wizarding estate that had passed from eldest son to eldest son for so long no one remembered how it had gotten its name. It used to be farmland, but now it stretched in endless hills and valleys of heather and grass. It held three homes, a make-shift Quidditch pitch, a tumble-down, old barn, and a chapel with a the family cemetery. I'd married Oliver in that small, weathered church. His older brothers lay in the graveyard.

The heather spread out in front of us in a purple sea as we walked up the lane to the big house. The sun shone brightly in the impossibly blue sky. It was a warm, late spring day with just the barest nip of chill to the air. Perfect for a party, but Oliver was squinting into the horizon where the churchyard lay beyond the hill.

I ran one hand over his arm. "I'll tell the family you'll be along shortly if you want to visit them."

"What? No." Oliver looked at me and the breeze ruffled his dark hair. "Dougal and Fergus will keep."

Taking my hand, Oliver led me up the path and passed a stone cottage with the thatched roof. Appearing as ancient as the land it stood on—older than the clapboard house Oliver and I lived in with our boys—it was in fact a recent addition. Catriona's Cottage, as we called it, had been built just after the war by my father-in-law. It was the home of Oliver's sister-in-law and nephew, his eldest brother Dougal's wife and son.

"We're about to have company." Oliver pointed in the direction of Cottage.

Just visible behind the hedge was the distinctive ginger head of our nephew, Campbell. And where one lad went, two others were sure to follow.

"It's to be an ambush, then?" I asked.

Boyish war cries rent the air. Three little boys on toy broomsticks zipped around our legs with their faces painted blue and white and wearing Puddlemere jumpers. Rory crashed into Oliver's knee and tumbled off his broom. Snagging him around the waist, Oliver tucked Rory against his chest, and toppled onto the ground. Bobby and Campbell screeched to a halt and jumped from their own brooms. They tackled Oliver, the force of their combined weight pushing him onto his back.

Squeaking, I hopped away before I got dragged into the tussle. It was a blur of swinging elbows and kicking feet, and the boys chanted the Puddlemere fight song as they piled on Oliver. He got an arm hooked around Campbell's chest and flipped the boy into the dirt. Bobby and Rory leapt on Oliver, each of them tugging on an arm. Finally, Oliver let the boys pin him to the ground, Rory sitting on his chest and the older boys holding his arms down.

"Daddy! We thought you would never get home," Bobby accused.

"Nan's been cooking all day," Campbell reported. "The whole family's here."

"The whole family is always here," Oliver replied. He struggled into a sitting position, and tumbled Rory into his lap. "Did you fly into my knees on purpose? You're a better flyer than that."

"Aye," Rory chirped. "It was Bobby's idea. He said to kip the ponet."

"Cripple the opponent," Bobby corrected.

"What if Daddy or Rory had got hurt?" I asked, standing over the lot of them.

Campbell looked up at me with a furrowed brow. "Mum would fix them, of course."

"That's girl thinking, lass," Oliver added with a grin.

I nudged him rather forcefully in the side with my shoe.

"Dammit, now I'm going to have to add bruised ribs to my list of injuries." He rubbed his side. "Help your old man up, lads."

The lads scrambled to their feet. Campbell grabbed one of Oliver's hands and the younger two grabbed the other. Oliver moaned and groaned playfully as the boys tugged on his hands, but wouldn't budge.

"C'mon, Uncle Oliver," Campbell grunted.

Finally relenting, Oliver allowed the boys to pull him up. They cheered, ran to mount their broomsticks and flew ahead. Swinging his arm around my shoulders, my husband pulled me against his side. There was a warm, solid strength to this man I married, and it was never as obvious as when I saw him with our sons.

"Girl thinking?" I demanded. "Really?"

Oliver chuckled. "We could get hurt? I've seen you take falls from your broomstick that would cause more injury than a 3 year-old boy ramming into my knee."

As we crested the rise to the house, we could see that the party had spilled into the garden. The whole family really was there. Percy and Alex were moving the table and chairs onto the lawn. Audrey was charming brightly-colored Chinese lanterns to float above it. Roberta had two-and-half-year-old Molly Weasley on her hip, while using her wand to levitate dishes from the kitchen to the table.

"Wait!" Audrey shouted before the first dish lowered to the table. With a swish of her wand, a blue and white checked tablecloth unfurled in the air and settled onto the table. "There."

"Thank you, dear," Roberta said, and three steaming dishes settled into place.

Catriona and our father-in-law Cal were atop ladders, affixing a banner across the back of the house. In big, blue letters, it read: "We Always Knew You Were a Keeper! Congratulations on the Championship!"

The lads ditched their broomsticks and ran ahead with whoops and cheers. Descending upon the food like Nifflers upon Gringott's gold, they were stopped by their granddad's shield charm and a few sharp words from their nan.

Oliver came to an abrupt halt, and I looked up at him. Long lashes hid his dark eyes from me.

"This is too much," he mumbled.

"You can say that after your third League Championship, Wood," I teased. "But this is the first and we all want to celebrate it with you."

Wrapping my arms around his chest, I stood on tiptoe to place a kiss on his mouth. Behind us, raucous applause broke out. I pulled away with a big smile.

"Alright," Oliver huffed. He grabbed my hand and tugged me along. "Let's get this over with."

Oliver was greeted with back-thumping hugs and congratulatory wishes. Cal was quick to distribute the Firewhisky for a toast, but Oliver opted for Butterbeer with a sour look on his face.

I sidled up beside Catriona and nudged her with my elbow. "I see Alex brought his latest boyfriend. What's this one's name?"

"Alex never introduced him," she said in a hushed voice as her mouth turned up in the corners.

"Oh, a keeper, then?"

Catriona chuckled. "No pun intended."

Waving with my fingers, I made my way over to Audrey.

"How do you manage in the land of giants?" Audrey asked as I approached. The petite brunette was even shorter than me.

I looked at my in-laws, all of whom were above average in height. Catriona was nearly six feet, and Roberta was only a few inches shorter. And the men? Alex was the shortest at six foot even, and it was agreed that his growth had been stunted by the overuse of the Cruciatus curse in his second year.

"I squeak a lot so they won't squash me underfoot," I replied. "No Firewhisky for you today?"

A wide smile lit up Audrey's face. "We've been keeping it quiet, but…" She took a deep breath before continuing. "We're pregnant again."

Tears sprung to my eyes as I was torn between happiness and worry. It was true that we were friends through our husbands, but Audrey was something like a sister-in-law to me, just like Catriona. I knew that Audrey had had four miscarriages since Molly was born. One of them had been as late as 20 weeks and that had been particularly devastating for them.

"How far along are you?" I asked with a genuine smile.

"Twenty-one weeks." She smoothed her hands over her belly, flattening her blouse, and it became obvious that she was already showing. "I think we'll tell our families soon. Well, I'm pretty sure Percy's mum already knows, but she hasn't said anything."

"Congratulations," I whispered, my throat constricted with tears.

Audrey wiped her eyes with the pad of her thumb. "Five is my lucky number, you know?"

I hugged her tightly, wiping my own tears away when she couldn't see me. When I pulled away, Oliver and Percy joined us.

"I told him," Percy said.

"I knew you would," Audrey replied.

My husband hugged Audrey, whispering something in her ear that made her cry harder.

"Oh, Merlin, don't do that." Oliver pulled away, a deep frown on his face.

"I'm just emotional," Audrey blubbered.

"You have such a way with women, Ollie," Percy said with a grin. He handed his wife a gleaming white handkerchief, which she accepted, then promptly blew her nose. Percy bent down to kiss her forehead.

Little Molly toddled over to Oliver and held her arms up to him. Obediently, he scooped up the little girl, making her ginger curls bounce. Oliver smiled fondly at our goddaughter.

"Unca Ollie," she said, and patted his face.

"If I'd known you'd be here, I would have got you a present," Oliver said. He pulled his wand from his pocket and conjured a pink flower. The little girl took it and smashed in against her freckled face.

"You are going to spoil her," Percy complained.

"She's my goddaughter, that's my job."

Molly leaned her head on Oliver's broad shoulder. "His job."

Percy crossed his arms over his narrow chest. "By the way, George and Angelina will be here later with Whiz-Bangs and the Bludgers."

'The Bludgers' was the name the Weasleys commonly used to refer to George and Angelina's children. It wasn't nice (funny, but not nice), yet it was all too true. Apparently the curse of "I hope you have children just like you someday" that Mrs. Weasley had placed on George many a time while growing up had come to fruition.

"Alicia and Lee, too?" I asked eagerly.

Percy nodded.

I reached up and placed a kiss on Oliver's cheek. "Wood, it'll be a reunion of the old team; your _first_ Championship team."

Oliver sent me a wide smile. "We'll have to break out the brooms, I reckon."

"And the Quaffles," I added.

"You lot," Roberta called. "Come eat!"

* * *

_5 Weeks_

_When the potion results are positive, it will turn from the murky brown of a bog to the pleasant pink of the rising sun…_

'Pleasant pink' my big toe! More like the startling, outrageous, buzzing pink of a neon sign. Not that wizards would know what neon looked like. I groaned at the very positive potion sitting on the edge of the vanity in my bathroom. Sinking down on the toilet lid, I pulled out my wand and vanished the vial.

Well, I was rather unexpectedly pregnant again. It didn't take a genius to figure out when it had happened. The maths lined up perfectly with the League Championship game. I buried my head in my hands. For Merlin's sake, we weren't kids any longer. How could we have allow ourselves to get so carried away?

While sitting there, I tried to think of all the reasons why having another baby was a bad idea. We already had a houseful, but Campbell was only here part of the time and rarely at night. Alex still kept a room, but I'd been meaning to turn that into a guest room since he'd left Hogwarts and moved out on his own. Even with the new baby, each of the boys would have his own room.

By the time this baby was born, Campbell would be eight, Bobby six and Rory four. That was a big age gap. Would the new baby feel left out? More than once, Alex had said he felt like an only child while he was growing up with his brothers being so much older. I was an only child and I didn't want my own child to grow up like that. Still, the new baby would have Percy and Audrey's child. Some sentimental part of me liked the idea of Percy and Oliver having children who would go off to Hogwarts together. Maybe Audrey would have a boy, too.

I'd given away all of my baby things after Rory. The baby would sleep in the Wood family cradle at first, but eventually I would need a cot and a pram and blankets. All things we could easily afford. Besides, what was more fun to buy than tiny blue rompers or little stuffed lions?

Standing to look in the mirror, I pulling my blouse up and spread my hands across my belly. It wasn't flat, nor was it perfect, and it hadn't been since I was 19. No number of diets or exercise programs seemed to rid my body of that little paunch. I felt self-conscious about it—especially since that unsightly roll was rather obvious in clingy tops— but Oliver didn't seem to mind.

_Oliver_. I smiled as I thought about my husband. He would be happy about the new baby. His parents would be, too. My mother…I sighed. She would probably be disappointed in me.

Pressing my hands into my abdomen, I pushed that thought aside. Instead, I imagined holding another baby. Oliver's baby. My eyes closed and a smile came to my face again. I was having Oliver's baby all over again. Would he have dark hair like his daddy and brothers? What were the chances that he would be blonde like me? Would he have brown eyes like Bobby? Or blue like Rory? Would he have Oliver's crooked smile? My dimples? He'd be stubborn and Quidditch-mad, no question there.

I giggled. Alright then, I needed to tell my husband he was going to be a father again. I bounded out of my room and down the stairs calling Oliver's name.

"In here, lass."

Entering the library, I found Oliver with Alex.

"Oh, hello, I didn't know you were here," I said to my brother-in-law. "Will you be staying for supper?"

"No, I just came to drop something off to Ollie."

I wrapped my arms around Oliver's middle and his went around me automatically. "Well, if you don't mind, I need to steal my husband away for a moment."

"Not at all, I was just going to wind up the lads before supper then leave for my date anyway," Alex replied with a cheeky grin.

"You are so rotten," I retorted, and rolled my eyes. "I'll be sure to ply them with sweets the next time you babysit."

Alex laughed as he made his way to the door.

"Don't forget to visit Mum and Dad while you're here," Oliver called after him.

Alex's handsome face scrunched up. "You are such an old woman. You two don't do anything I wouldn't do."

When Alex was gone, Oliver pulled me against him so that my chest was flush with his. He was smiling hugely, and for a moment I thought he must already know about the baby. Then I reminded myself that he couldn't possibly know.

"I have a surprise for you," he said.

"Oh? That makes two of us."

Oliver's head cocked to one side. "I'm taking you on a proper date a week from tomorrow. Catriona's taking off from St. Mungo's to watch the lads and everything."

I squealed shamelessly. Running my hands down his strong back, I cupped his muscular arse. "Where are you taking me? Our favorite restaurant in Glasgow? Or is this going to be properly fancy, and you'll take me down to London?"

"You'll just have to wait and find out. It's a surprise, or don't you know the meaning of the word?"

I propped my hands on my hips, glaring up at him. "Oliver Wood…"

He laughed. "Patience, lass."

"How am I to know what to wear if you don't tell me where we are going?"

"You aren't getting it out of me, so don't even try. _I_ am as stubborn as _you_ are spoiled, remember?"

"Spoiled!" I gaped at him. Then I hit him on the chest. "I am not spoiled!"

Oliver's arms fell away from me. Summoning a pillow from the settee, I whacked him with it.

"Ow!" He laughed, and raised his hands to defend himself as I hit him again.

"Tell me."

_Whack!_

"Not a chance."

_Whack! Whack!_

"I. Don't. Like. Surprises."

_Whack!_

"It'll be good," he laughed, "for your character."

Oliver caught the pillow, gave it a tug and the next thing I knew, my back was crashing into his chest. His arms locked around me, and the pillow dropped to the ground. We were both laughing and gasping for breath. Merlin, I was all hot and sweaty. I fanned myself with my hand.

"You said you had a surprise for me?" Oliver asked. He leaned down to press a kiss into my neck.

I shot him a sidelong glance. "I'll tell you my surprise if you tell me yours."

"Not a chance."

I pouted, and he laughed.


	3. Chapter Two

_6 Weeks_

"Do you know where he's taking me?"

My sister-in-law, Catriona, was sitting at the end of my bed as I got ready for my mystery date. I'd had absolutely no luck in the last week getting Oliver to spill his secret, despite dangling my own secret in front of him. He had been driving me mad.

"Even if I knew—which I do not—I wouldn't tell you," Catriona said. She was flipping through the latest edition of _Witch Weekly_. "He did tell me not to expect you home until sometime tomorrow."

A hotel room? Just the two of us? We'd stayed in a hotel by ourselves the night of the Championship game, but most of the evening had been spent celebrating with the team. There hadn't been much opportunity to enjoy the rare bit of privacy. I was suddenly much more excited for whatever the night had in store.

I came out of the closet wearing the black sheath dress that I had bought for the Puddlemere United League Championship banquet. As I didn't care to get trussed up in fancy clothes too often—nor did I have reason to—there hadn't been much in my wardrobe to choose from. It was this dress or the frock I'd worn to George and Angelina's wedding. Since I had been a bridesmaid, I thought the long, pink, satin gown might be overdoing it a bit.

"You don't mind having all the boys for the night?" I asked.

"Not at all," Catriona said as she looked up and smiled. "You know how Campbell looks forward to staying up at the big house with his godbrothers."

"Can you zip me up?" I asked, giving up the struggle to do it myself.

Catriona slipped off the end of the bed and came to do me up. After three tugs on the zipper, it became rather obvious that it did not want to budge.

"Merlin, Katie, what have you been eating?" Catriona muttered, giving the zipper another tug. "This dress fit a month ago."

I pursed my lips. "Shut it, you."

"And look at your cleavage," Catriona went on. "I don't remember you spilling out of this dress quite so much last time."

"Would you just put an Undetectable Expansion charm on the blasted thing and be done with it?"

Catriona pulled her wand out to perform the spell, but not without commentary. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were pregnant again."

I froze, feeling heat come into my cheeks. The zipper went up, but there was silence from behind me.

"Katie?" Catriona said. "Are you…"

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

Catriona came around to face me. At first, her mouth was hanging open, then she was grinning broadly. "Does Oliver know yet?"

I blew out the breath I'd been holding. "No."

"So," Catriona laughed, much too amused for my liking, "he's not the only one with a secret to reveal?"

I wrung my hands, not meeting her eye. Not telling Oliver had been a mistake, but when I'd stubbornly refused for the better part of the week, it got harder to admit to it.

"You _do_ plan to tell him tonight, don't you?"

"I don't want to ruin his romantic surprise."

"How could this possibly ruin it?"

"It's not…planned," I admitted, although Catriona had probably surmised that for herself. This was not our first unplanned pregnancy. At least I wasn't 19 this time. "I want to have this one, grownup night out before I'm barefoot and pregnant again."

Catriona scoffed. "You are hardly barefoot and pregnant. And Oliver will be over the moon, you know he will be."

"I do," I agreed. A little smile came to face. "And so am I, truly. But…"

"You want one night of romance? There's nothing wrong with that."

I latched on to that with a nod of my head. To be honest, keeping this secret to myself had allowed the doubts to creep in again. I had two unruly boys already, and now I was adding a third. There were times when that seemed like a terrible idea —like last Tuesday when we visited Wizarding Glasgow and I lost Bobby amongst a rack of clothes while Rory was knocking stacks of jumpers off a shelf. If I'd just shared the news with Oliver, I'd have him to help me laugh it off. He'd remind me that little wizards didn't stay that way forever, for good and for bad.

"Maybe I'll tell him over breakfast tomorrow," I finally said to Catriona.

"That sounds like an excellent plan."

oOo

"She's wearing a frock like a girl, Daddy," Rory announced. I could see his little face peering around the bannister at me as I walked down the stairs. "And her chebs are hanging out."

"Nice, Oliver," I heard Catriona mutter from just out of sight.

"Oof! Ow!" Oliver grunted. "Why do you assume he learned it from me? Come here, Rory, you don't have to repeat everything you hear."

Rory grinned up at me before scampering off. The boys greeted me with whistles and applause as I came into the foyer. Giggling, I twirled around on the posh leopard-print heels that Angelina insisted I buy last month after deeming them fabulous. That might be, but they also pinched my toes and I felt as though I was wobbling all over the place. To prove my point, I teetered on them at the end of my turn, but Oliver was there to catch me.

"Easy there, lass," he murmured as he smiled down at me. His hands grasped my upper arms, the warmth of his palms seeping into my skin. There was a subtle hint of a woody, masculine cologne. Mm, Oliver never wore cologne. My eyes locked on the pulse point throbbing in his throat, and I was overcome with the desire to press my mouth against it.

Forcing my yearnings down, I finally noticed that Oliver was wearing a Muggle suit I had never seen before. It was navy, with a crisp white button down shirt and a navy-and-silver-striped silk tie. The suit was cut perfectly to stretch across his broad shoulders and taper in at his narrow hips. I ran my hand over his chest and fingered the shiny tie. Looking at his handsome face from under my eyelashes, I brushed my hips against his. Oliver's hands traveled from my arms, across my shoulder blades and down my back.

Dropping his eyes, he cleared his throat. "We have dinner reservations…can't be late."

Then he presented me with a bouquet of yellow and white daffodils. Simple, Muggle daffodils. I stared agape at them for a moment before accepting them. The bright, cheery flowers were my favorites, and Oliver always said that they reminded him of me. Still, they were terribly out of season. I couldn't imagine how he found any.

It suddenly occurred to me that Oliver had truly planned a proper date for us.

I accepted the daffodils and inhaled their earthy scent. Suddenly I felt shy and excited, as if we were going on our first date.

"Um, should we be going?" I said.

"Here, let me put those in water," Catriona said and took the flowers. "You two have fun."

Oliver took my arm, and I smiled up at him. The lads crowded around us, saying goodbye and firing last-minute questions at us. We were just about to the backdoor, when Bobby gave the hem of my frock a hard tug. I crouched down so that I was on his level and about fell arse over tit. Bobby put a hand on my arm as if to steady me.

"What is it, love?" I asked.

"You look really pretty," he whispered. "Even though you look so girly."

I kissed his cheek, then wiped the lipstick off. "Cheers."

oOo

Moments later, Oliver had Apparated us into an alley near a busy street. He took my hand, and I followed him onto a bustling city sidewalk. The sights and sounds told me we were in Muggle London.

"Slow down, Oliver. I can't walk that fast in these heels."

He sent me a sheepish look. "Sorry."

Our first stop was a fancy seafood restaurant. That was when things began to go downhill.

As soon as we walked through the door, the smell of fish slapped me in the face. I hesitated a moment, my stomach clenching. Oliver, who was holding the door for me, gave me a concerned look.

"What is it, lass?" he asked.

I pasted a smile on, my stomach easing. "Nothing. You know me, I'm just not used to these heels."

Oliver came to my side, his hand finding its spot on my waist as it always did. "They make your legs look great," he murmured into my ear. "But I'll be just as happy to see them off of you. The frock, too."

I swayed into him, heat unfurling through my body. The maître d' choose that moment to appear and we followed him to the table where Oliver pulled out my chair, then sat across from me. As we looked over our menus, I slipped off one shoe and proceeded to run my foot up the inside of my husband's calf. I found myself wishing for longer legs, as I couldn't quite reach my desired location. All the same, Oliver frowned at me over the menu.

"Behave, you."

I giggled. "You don't mean that."

He captured my foot under the table and rubbed his thumb into the pad of it. "Later," he promised.

A waiter went by with a tray full of lobster, shrimp and clams that caused a wave of nausea to wash over me again. I pulled my foot out of Oliver's hand and sat up straighter. Seafood was something we rarely had at home, but it was a favorite indulgence of mine. Oliver must have had that in mind when he chose this restaurant. I was not going to let anything ruin his surprise.

After we placed our orders—I asked for an appetizer of breads instead of calamari—I placed my hand in Oliver's.

"How did you find this place?" I asked.

"Alex's boyfriend suggested it. Did you know he's Muggleborn?"

"I did know, but I thought you didn't like him."

Oliver shrugged. "He's alright, I suppose. He's two Beaters short of a full Quidditch team, but he's nice enough. Helped me plan this whole night, actually, which I think annoyed Alex a bit."

"Where do we go after this?" I asked, and batted my eyes in what I hoped was an innocent manner.

He grinned. "You're not getting anything out of me, so forget it."

"How do you know I didn't get Alex to spill all the details to me already?"

"Because I hexed him," Oliver replied nonchalantly.

I stared at him for a moment. "You did not."

Oliver's eyebrows went up.

"You did? Oliver!"

He grinned unrepentantly.

One of the things I'd had to get used to in the Wood family was the idea of no-holds-barred brotherhood. Even with Alex, who was nearly ten years younger than Oliver, my husband could be ruthless. Not that Alex couldn't hold his own. He'd once cursed Oliver with pustules that landed him in St. Mungo's for the night. As an only child myself, the open love and warfare between siblings was a bit hard to get used to. Of course, watching Campbell, Bobby and Rory go at it had been the true education. I wondered how the new baby would fare.

"I hear we are going to be out all night," I said, leaning forward, aware that I was fairly spilling out of my dress. "Are you taking me to a hotel, Wood? I suppose you think a nice dinner entitles you to have your way with me?"

Oliver leaned in with a grin. "I certainly hope so." It took longer than expected, but his eyes travelled to my breasts, just as I knew they would.

Out of nowhere, a waiter popped up by the table with an ice bucket and a bottle of champagne, forcing Oliver and I to mind our p's and q's. We both sat back as the server placed a flute in front of each of us. I couldn't help but eye mine as if it were snake ready to strike. This was a complication I had not considered. If we weren't in a Muggle restaurant, I would simply transfigure it into grape juice. How was I going to turn down champagne without raising suspicion?

After pouring a glass for each of us and taking our orders, the waiter disappeared again.

"You certainly have it all planned out," I said, pretending to take a sip.

Oliver smirked, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he looked at me. "What were you expecting? Fish 'n chips, something Quidditch related, and a nice shag?"

Yes, actually, that was exactly what I had been expecting, but I wasn't going to tell _him_ that.

The bread came. I ate it slowly with butter and it helped settle my stomach. Next was an excellent lobster bisque that I managed without a twinge. I kept Oliver distracted enough that he never even noticed that I didn't touch my champagne. Before I knew it, our meals came.

The waiter set my plate in front of me. It was a white fish, very simple and very plain. I would have preferred something a bit more adventurous, but hadn't trusted my stomach with shell fish or a heavy sauce. And with reason; my stomach cramped at the sight of my entrée.

As I contemplated my fish, the smell assaulted me: shell fish. I looked across the table at my husband's dish. Oliver had an entire plate…

I became sick all over the floor and the waiter's shiny shoes. The man gave a yelp, jumping back and spilling champagne onto the floor. The smell of the booze over seafood and vomit overwhelmed my already weak stomach and I heaved again.

For a split second, a deafening silence rang through the restaurant. Then, as one, the other diners gasped. I looked up, my face stricken, to see people recoiling in horror. One woman pointed and screamed. I shut my eyes tightly against the tears that gathered there. Oliver's perfect night had been ruined.

My husband was by my side in a second, and looking into my mortified face with concern. Gently, he wiped my mouth with a cloth napkin. I collapsed back into the chair, and pressed my hand into my stomach. I'd never experienced much morning sickness with my previous pregnancies, mostly just a passing queasy. In fact, I could only remember being sick once between the two pregnancies. Merlin, I hoped this wasn't a sign of what I was in for this go around.

"I paid the man," Oliver murmured in my ear. I looked in his face. That worried pucker had formed between his brows.

"Do you suppose you could Vanish _that_ ," I croaked, pointing at the vomit pooling near my feet, "and Oblivate all the Muggles before we go?"

He shook his head, a small smile coming to his face. "Not even for you, lass. Percy would have my hide for Misuse of Magic."

"Hmph. I see how I rate."

"At the top, I promise."

Oliver scooped me up, cradling me against his chest. I squeaked, my arms going around his neck.

"There. That's more like it," he said.

"I can walk, Wood."

Oliver shook his head. "I got you, Mrs. Wood."

Resting my head on his shoulder, I enjoyed being taken care of for a moment. Much to my surprise, Oliver hailed a cab for us. He had ridden in automobiles with my parents before, but he wasn't fond of Muggle transportation. Perhaps he thought it would be easier on my stomach than Apparition.

A short while later, we were at the Charring Cross Hotel, which Oliver had checked us into earlier in the day. Once in our room, Oliver drew me a bath while I brushed my teeth. I would have liked to Scourgify my mouth; I hated vomiting. Then Oliver was behind me. Unzipping my dress, he pressed a kiss into my shoulder before giving me a bit of privacy.

As I stripped down and slipped into the bubbles, I considered how differently this night was supposed to have gone. It wasn't very often we got an evening out with just the two of us. I had been looking forward to long hours making love and having a lie in the next morning. And maybe we would have made love again. Merlin, I missed morning sex.

I'd been in the bath long enough for my fingers to prune when Oliver knocked on the door and stuck his head in.

"How are you feeling?"

"Very sorry for myself," I replied, sinking into the tub. One of the best things about being a witch was the ability to reheat the bath water with a swish of my wand, a talent I was employing liberally. "But my stomach is settled."

Oliver came into the loo and sat on the edge of the tub. He'd changed into a pair of denims and a Puddlemere polo. I was sorry to see the suit go; he'd looked so handsome. I'd had plans for that tie.

"What were you planning for after dinner?" I asked.

"Do you really want to know?"

"Yes. Were you going to take me dancing?" I teased.

"I thought about it, but I didn't think you'd want your toes trod upon all night," Oliver replied, smiling so that the skin around his eyes crinkled. "I got tickets to a Muggle play about witches called _Wicked_. I thought you might think that was amusing."

"I'm sorry I ruined our night." I sunk down further into the tub so that the water nearly covered my chin. I felt close to tears.

"Nonsense. Any night that ends with you in my arms is a good night."

I gave a watery laugh and splashed him. "You are very sappy, Wood. Anyone ever tell you that?"

"Just my wife."

"What was this all for anyway?" I asked. "Our anniversary is still a few weeks away."

Oliver looked at me from under his lashes and shifted so his back was to me. "Do I need a reason to take my wife out for the night?"

"No," I said. I folded my arms atop the side of the tub and leaned my head on them, looking up at Oliver. "But was there?"

He looked down at me with a small smile, then reached over to brush his fingers along my cheek. "I was thinking about how much fun you had at the after-party for the Championship. You were dancing and drinking and laughing with Angelina and Ginny. Every man at the party envied me my beautiful, young wife; I could see it in their eyes when they watched you. But then I thought… well, you never really got to be young like that, with the war and then the babies coming so soon after. I never really got a chance to woo you properly. I thought, maybe, I should try to make it up to you."

Blast it! The tears were falling now. We'd been friends for years, then married for nearly six now, but Oliver could still surprise me with his thoughtfulness. My heart ached a bit in my chest and I knew it was because I was falling in love with my wonderful husband a bit more.

"Don't do that, lass," he murmured, brushing a tear away with his thumb. He still hated it when I cried.

"I love you, Oliver," I whispered. I climbed out of the tub and wrapped a towel around myself so that I could sit on his knee. Threading my arms around his neck, I kissed him. "I wouldn't trade a night out dancing with the girls for even a single night spent at home with my lads. I have no regrets, I promise."

He squeezed me close. "Do you want to lie down and rest or—"

"Or?" I echoed suggestively, wiggling in his lap.

"Do you feel up to Apparition?" His hand crept up my thigh and under the towel.

"To where?"

"It's a surprise."

I opened my mouth to say that I'd had enough of surprises, and we had a perfectly good bed only a few feet away, but I closed it. Oliver wanted to surprise me, that's what this whole night had been about. I could go along.

I dressed quickly, discovering that Oliver had packed a pair of denims and a jumper for me. As well as a pair of lacy knickers and matching bra that I would never wear for normal, everyday use. I gave him a look, holding up the article that barely kept my chest in check when not pregnancy ripe. He smirked, stuffing his hands in his pockets and rocking onto the balls of his feet.

Once dressed, Oliver Disapparated the two of us straight from the hotel room. We spun back into existence moments later, and I was forced to cling to Oliver's shirt for a moment as my stomach made its displeasure known. As I came back to myself, I took a moment to enjoy having Oliver's arms around me and the hard planes of his chest under my hands, the thud of his heart against my ear. Slowly, I became aware that the air was no longer humid and heavy with pollution. Instead, there was a chill and the earthy scent of grass and heather. Bowtruckles were humming in the trees. Fairy lights glowed in the low foliage. Instead of the bright lights of the city, we were in the darkness of the country, the moon and stars silvery against the black sky. We were home.

I looked up at Oliver, his face shadowy in the summer night. "What now, Wood?"

"Would you like to go for a fly?"

He didn't have to ask twice. Flying was something we both loved, and even more so when we could fly together. We took just the one broom; I sat nestled before him as we glided over Red's Wood to the barn. It was a ramshackle affair, with a gaping hole in the roof, but we kept it clean and safe for the boys to play in and for the occasional romantic rendezvous like this.

I was surprised to find fairy lights strung across the ceiling and a fire already lit in the fire pit. Tartan blankets were spread out, a basket sitting to one side.

"How did you do all this?" I asked. "I wasn't in the bath that long."

Oliver was looking around the barn; he appeared as equally impressed as I was. "I went to the Leaky Cauldron while you were in the bath and recruited a little brotherly assistance." He knelt on the blankets and opened the wicker basket. "Although, _this_ is courtesy of Hannah Longbottom."

I sat beside him and we rummaged through the basket together. It was full of crusty bread, cheese, thinly sliced meats, and grapes. I pulled out a bottle, smiling when I saw it was fancy flagon of pumpkin juice. This was what Oliver used to serve Harry and me after Quidditch games that first year on the team. Since we were the youngest, Oliver forbade the two of us to even look at the Butterbeer, but he'd give us the swanky bottle because it looked like wine so we wouldn't feel left out.

"Oh, excellent," Oliver said.

He pulled out a dish that contained Hannah Longbottom's famous cherry crumble topped with ice cream. She used a special charm that kept the ice cream from melting until exactly the right moment. My stomach chose that instant to announce that it was hungry. Oliver laughed.

"Dessert first, then?" He handed me the dish. Then he leaned in and whispered into my ear, "I was thinking the same thing."

Heat spread through my body. Oliver touched the crumble with his wand. The gooey dessert simultaneously warmed while the rich ice cream melted. With a spoon, Oliver scooped a bite into my mouth. The juice of the cherries burst over my taste buds, the cool cream sliding down my throat. I closed my eyes, and licked a bit of sticky cordial off my lips. We went back and forth like this until the dessert was gone; first Oliver feeding me, then I watched as he scooped the dessert into his own mouth. When it was finished, Oliver kissed me.

oOo

Stretched out across the blanket, I could see the stars twinkling above me. Oliver rolled onto his side, his muscled leg covering mine, his hand settling over my bare belly. He nuzzled my neck and I twined my fingers through his hair with a contented sigh.

"Are you pregnant again?" he asked, his dark eyes looking into mine.

"How did—yes."

He stroked my belly, looking down at it tenderly. "How long have you known?"

"I figured it out about the same time you announced your mystery date."

Oliver chuckled softly. Then he dipped down to kiss my stomach. I cupped him to me, tears coming to my eyes. It was nice to feel worshipped, especially when my belly was no longer flat and stretch marks raked across my skin.

"When did _you_ figure it out?" I asked, still combing my fingers through his hair.

"The look of revulsion that came over your face every time a plate of shellfish passed the table was my first clue," he said as he crawled up my body to kiss me again. "The puking was a bit of surprise, I'll admit. I don't remember that from the first two times."

"That makes two of us," I grumbled.

"Then you got all sappy on me in the bathtub and cried." He made a face. "I hate that part of pregnancy."

I laughed and wrapped my arms around his neck. "You would."

"And if that wasn't enough…" His hand skimmed up my torso to cup my breast with such gentleness, a touch I remembered from my previous pregnancies. I arched into his hand. "The girls are bigger and more tender than usual."

Oliver leaned down to press a kiss into the curve of my breast. "So," he said with a boyish grin. "Should we call this one 'Champ'?"

I shook my head, grinning widely. I wasn't surprised that Oliver had surmised the date of conception. We'd both been swept up in the excitement of the night and had been more than a wee bit reckless. It wasn't the first time that had happened with similar consequences.

Oliver pulled a blanket over us. We lay under the stars for a long time, wrapped up in each other, touching one another lazily.

"You alright with this?" Oliver asked quietly after some time, his fingers trailing down my arm.

I leaned up to give him a kiss. "Better than alright," I whispered. "You?"

His smile was shy, and that was all the answer I needed.


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this chapter a little ahead of schedule. The next one will come on Tuesday. Thank you for reading.

_14 weeks_

I counted out my Galleons as the shop girl folded my purchases and placed them into a bag. Three maternity tops and two maternity trousers courtesy of Magical Modern Maternity. ( _Now_ w _ith Undetectable Expansion Charm: Never fear, we'll fit even if you become the size of a hippogriff_!) The girl took my money and handed me the magically shrunken bag. I turned to the entrance to see Alicia and Angelina crowded near the shop window peering at the rain.

"Why must it always bloody rain in England?" Angelina complained. "I just bought these shoes."

She stuck out her leg so that we could "ooh" and "ah" over her zebra-striped ballet slippers with the lime green piping. Or more accurately, so Alicia could roll her eyes while I feigned gagging. Unperturbed, Angelina dismissed us with a wave of her hand as sadly fashion-challenged.

"So, put an Impervious charm on those bad boys and let's get lunch," Alicia said.

My stomach grumbled. "I might be a bit peckish."

"And by the sounds of it, the baby is ravenous," Angelina teased.

I had told Angelina and Alicia about the new baby when we met up that morning at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes for our quarterly girls' day out. They took the mickey out of me for not being able to cast a proper contraceptive charm even as they hugged me.

Presently, Alicia smiled and said, "How does the Leaky Cauldron sound to you lot?"

"Actually… " I said and paused. I made a face before admitting, "You know what I want? A Big Mac."

My friends were both half-bloods but had grown up exclusively in the wizarding world. The looks they gave me ran somewhere between immensely baffled and mildly amused.

"What's that?" Angelina asked. "Your pet name for Wood's, er, wood?"

"No!" I punched her in the arm and looked around to make sure no one overheard.

Alicia laughed. "You've been married to George too long, love."

"It's a hamburger, you twat," I said. "You get them at this Muggle restaurant. Well, not _restaurant_ precisely. A fast food place, which is different, and I'm not so sure the food is actually _food_."

"Well, that's a ringing endorsement," Angelina said, still rubbing her arm. "You want to eat there, even though the food is questionably edible?"

"Oh, it's edible and yes, more than anything," I said. "Fast food is all I've wanted for the last two weeks, but you know…"

"It's hard to come by stuck in a Scottish farmhouse protected by magic?" Alicia supplied helpfully.

"Yes, that's it exactly."

Because they loved me—or more likely, because they were already dressed in Muggle clothing—Angelina and Alicia agreed to journey into Muggle London to help in my quest to procure fast food. First, we had to exchange our Galleons for pounds at Gringotts. While there, Angelina ran into one of her brothers-in-law ("You can't swing a kneazle by the tail without hitting a Weasley!"). This necessitated a ten minute conversation about whose birthday was coming up next, if the weather would be fine enough for a pickup Quidditch game at the Burrow on Sunday and the always popular "I can't believe what stupid thing Ron _said_ " followed by a round of "I can't believe what stupid thing George _did_."

By the time we exited the bank, I was hungry enough to eat a hippogriff. We had to pass through the Leaky Cauldron where Angelina dodged another brother-in-law ("Can't this time, see you Sunday!"). This did nothing to help my growing hunger as I was inundated with the heavenly smells of freshly baked bread. I nearly went weak in the knees when a tray of kidney pies went by.

One way or another, we ended up at McDonald's. We ordered three Big Mac meals with large Fantas. Once seated, Alicia looked at her meal dubiously, but she popped a chip in her mouth and chewed happily. Angelina, however, opened the cardboard sandwich box, peered inside, and then pushed her tray away.

I took a bite of the wonderfully messy, questionably food-related sandwich and smiled in bliss.

"That is disgusting," Angelina said.

"It is. It is magnificently disgusting."

Angelina curled her lip.

"So," Alicia said. She still had not touched her Big Mac. "You haven't told us how baby number three came to be."

I wiped my mouth with the paper napkin. "Well, he wasn't planned…"

"No, no, let me guess," Angelina said and smirked. "Somehow, it all started with Quidditch."

"It always does!" Alicia chimed in with a laugh.

"The two of you are fine ones to talk," I retorted. "Angelina here has Irish twins."

A slight redness came to Angelina's dark cheeks. It had made the front page of the gossip rags when former Holyhead Harpie Angelina Weasley gave birth to baby number two only ten months after baby number one. Gwenog Jones was actually quoted as saying, "She'll never get back to her Quidditch weight now!"

The next week, Jones' home was mysteriously hexed so that a blaring alarm and flashing, red light would go on at precisely 10 o'clock every night and only stopped at dawn. She'd had to move.

"And you!" I turned on Alicia. "I shall not speak of your sins aloud."

Alicia laughed. "My sins?"

"Shacking up with Hogwarts' biggest loud mouth," Angelina said and shuddered.

Alicia smirked. "And he knows what to do with that mouth, too."

Angelina and I cried out in mutual disgust. I pushed my food away, images of Alicia and Lee Jordan doing... Ahhh! Grimacing, I stared at my half-eaten food sourly.

"Oh, come on," Alicia laughed. "He might have been a bit of a spaz in school, but Lee got fit."

"Says you," muttered Angelina.

"Yes, says me. I mean, you married George Weasley, for Merlin's sake. It's hard to imagine seeing him naked every night, between the blinding white of his arse and utter brightness of all those ginger pubes."

"Well, he does glow in the dark, I'll give you that," Angelina agreed. "And I must say that Lee has turned you into a gutter mouth. But enough about our unfortunate tastes in men and back to Katie."

I smirked. "There is nothing wrong with my taste in men."

"As long as you don't mind sleeping with a broomstick," Angelina shot back.

"Well, it's a bit longer, but…"

Angelina chucked a chip at my head. I dodged, but she had been a professional Chaser for a reason and it struck me right in the forehead. We were all laughing loudly and when I looked around, I noticed several old women staring at us in horror. If only they knew they had three witches in their midst.

"No, ugh, I never want to hear about Lee's mouth or Oliver's wood again," Angelina exclaimed.

"So long as we don't have to hear about George's freckled arse," I replied.

"Agreed." Angelina shook her head. "What I want to know is this: Have you told you mother about your new little bundle of joy yet?"

I gulped. "I think I would rather talk about George's arse."

* * *

_17 weeks_

I have always considered myself a brave woman. From the time I was young, I was never afraid to stand my ground or try something new. Even when I was frightened, I never backed down. I was a Gryffindor, after all.

That was, until it came to facing my mother.

During the war with Voldemort, I spent six months in a coma, then another nine months as a refugee on the Continent. Due to the unrest in the magical world—a world my parents had no part in—I had been completely out of their reach. As a mother now myself, I could all too easily imagine the agony my mum must have been in, wondering if I'd ever return to her.

When I did return, we had a joyous reunion. Until I realized I was pregnant. No matter how much she loved me, no matter how glad she was that I was alive and well, I had disappointed her. I was 19 and pregnant out of wedlock. In her eyes, my life was over. But it wasn't, it was only just beginning and in a manner I had never truly imagined. Yet our failure to see eye to eye in this matter had left a rift between my mother and me that we'd never entirely healed.

So, I admit I had been a coward. There I was nearly 18 weeks pregnant and already starting to show, but we still had not told my parents. Or, more precisely, _I_ had been too chicken to face my mother. I knew it had to be done and today was that day. Still, as I dressed, I chose clothes that hid my belly. In fact, I chose to wear a black cloak over my clothes. I would just claim to be cold.

Oliver had started back to training with Puddlemere, but Sundays were his off day so we side-along Apparated our boys to the outskirts of my home village. My parents were waiting for us at the spot where we appeared.

"Katie," Mum exclaimed with a broad smile.

I returned it, happy to see her despite my nerves. When she hugged me, I was careful to lean into her arms, not wanting to give anything away quite yet. It was the same with Daddy, though our relationship had never been as strained.

Piling into the car, we drove into the village—though I knew Oliver would have preferred to walk the three miles, he never complained. Once there, we took luncheon at the local pub where the boys were reprimanded for throwing the dinner rolls at each other and Oliver was reprimanded for thinking it was funny. After, we went for a stroll around the park, in hopes that Bobby and Rory would run off some energy before going to their grandparents' home. All of the dolls I never played with were lovingly preserved there, but there was not much to interest two boisterous boys other than an old football.

The park ended with the boys finding sticks to use as wands and Rory falling off the top of the slide when they were playing Harry Potter and the Aurors. I had my wand out to Levitate him safely to the ground, but Oliver proved why he was the most fearsome Keeper in the National Quidditch League and snatched Rory out of the air like a Quaffle.

Following the daring rescue, my giggling child was deposited into my arms unharmed. Rory smiled up at me—Roberta always said that was Fergus' smile—and announced that he wanted to do it again. My mother was very pale, a hand pressed to her chest.

"I think you've scared your poor mother quite enough for one day, young man," she scolded, wagging a finger at him.

"They're scamps," I said weakly. I felt as if I were being scolded because I couldn't keep my boys in hand, nor safe. And now I was having a third! "I blame Oliver."

"Stuff and nonsense," Daddy said. "I seem to remember a little girl who fell out of any number of trees and she always bounced."

I smiled at Daddy as he took Rory from my arms and set him on the ground. Taking the lad's hand, they led the way back to the car for the drive to the house. Once there, my father took Oliver and the boys out to the garden to kick around the football, leaving me to have tea with my mother.

"He never quite gets the hang of it, does he?" Mum said as she watched Oliver miss Bobby's pass from the window.

"Oliver was meant for the skies, not the turf," I agreed.

"How many years has he played for Puddlemere now?"

"Ten," I answered absently. I was delighted to watch my dad teach my sons how to do toe touches.

"And how many more is he likely to play?"

I looked at my mother now. "Another ten if he stays healthy. Quidditch careers can be lengthy since most injuries can be healed magically."

"I see. So, he's not likely to end up a cripple at the end of his life like a rugby player?" She took a small sip of her tea and set the cup back in its saucer.

I took a moment to sip my own tea, watching my mother over the teacup, before answering, "Well, Quidditch will takes its toll, just not quickly."

"I see," she said again. "And what will he do when he can no longer play?"

"Coach, I imagine."

"He'll spend his entire life in sport, then?"

"Just as you've spent your entire life in law, Mummy."

Mum pursed her lips, not looking at me, then she asked, "And what about you, dear?"

Here was my opening. I knew what she wanted to hear. She wanted to hear that I was starting a career outside the home, just as she had. In her eyes, I was merely a housewife. She couldn't accept that her daughter wanted different things than she did.

"Well, I keep busy," I said slowly, staring into my teacup as if it were the most interesting thing I'd ever seen. I would simply work up to the news. That was not at all cowardly. "Bobby will be joining Campbell in lessons full time now that he is five."

"I don't see why you don't send those boys to primary school," Mum scoffed.

"Because," I said through gritted teeth, "they are wizards, Mum. You saw them in the park, they play Harry Potter instead of cops and robbers. They don't know not to talk about how Daddy plays Quidditch on a broomstick and Mummy cleans the toilet with a wand."

Mum sat up ramrod straight, her lips thinned into nothingness. I rather wished I had used a more impressive example than toilet-cleaning. Of the many things Mum did not understand about the wizarding world, it was the educational system, such as it was. Roberta and I taught the boys at home. Catriona helped, too, but she was a single parent, working full-time as a medi-witch at St. Mungo's. I think if I were paid in Galleons as opposed to hugs, it would be easier for my mum to accept.

"Then why aren't there primary schools for little witches and wizards?" Mum insisted.

"I'll admit, that seems a banging good idea," I acquiesced, "but I haven't the time for a new crusade at the moment as I am currently in the business of raising little wizards—"

"I worked and raised you."

With the generous help of the nursery school down the lane, but I didn't say that aloud.

"Yes, well, I also manage my husband's career and our family's business interests."

Mum gave me a look. Somehow this never counted as a career to my mother, despite the fact that Oliver was the highest paid Keeper in the National Quidditch League thanks to me. And that spoke nothing of his endorsements. Again, perhaps it was because I was paid in kisses.

"And," I added. It was now or never. I wrung the cloth napkin in my lap and just barely managed to keep eye contact. "I'm pregnant again."

There was utter silence. I forced myself to remain smiling.

"Oh, Catherine."

There it was. My full name. The smile slid off my face.

"Is this what you want?" Mum demanded.

So, I parted with another uncomfortable truth.

"The baby was unplanned," I admitted and watched as she turned away from me. I felt like I was 19 again.

"You are a grown woman, Katie. You should be more responsible than this."

I decided to keep to myself the fact that this pregnancy was the result of me forgetting to use a contraceptive charm (again) in the heat of the moment.

"Mummy, I am happy about this baby no matter how he came about, and so is Oliver."

"I'm sure he is."

Her hands were folded primly in her lap, the knuckles white. I'd had a happy childhood with love and laughter, but it was in moments like this one that made it seem as if that were another lifetime.

"Family is important to Oliver," I said, fighting to keep my voice even. "And it's important to me. It's why I wanted to have my children while I was still young so that they would know you and Daddy."

I held back the second part: the boys and I would come around more if I didn't have to defend my choices to her. I was too near to crying to reveal that. Luckily, I was saved by Daddy, Oliver and our boys, who chose that moment to come inside.

"I'm afraid we'll never make a footballer out of him, Katie," Dad said, clapping Oliver on the shoulder.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and I looked up to see that Oliver was watching me carefully. I tried to smile reassuringly to him as he scooped Rory up. Bobby scurried over to crawl into my lap. I pushed his dark, sweaty hair off his forehead. He looked at me with serious brown eyes before smiling, and molded his hot, little body against mine. Despite my own turmoil, I couldn't help but smile down at him in return. I pressed a kiss into his pink cheek, not taking my eyes off his beloved face.

"Have we missed something?" Daddy asked, looking from Mum to me and back again.

"Katie's pregnant again," Mum said, her voice flat.

Daddy's eyes flickered to Mum for a moment. Then he looked at me with a fond smile. He came over to smooth a hand over my hair.

"That's wonderful, darling girl."

He kissed my cheek, shook Oliver's hand, and speculated if this one might be a girl. We denied the possibility: only boys in the Wood family. Then we were in the car, returning to the country lane from whence we came.

* * *


	5. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to PM4 for her enlightening comments. I really appreciate the feedback.

_24 Weeks_

It was early December when the news came via Patronus in the middle of the night. Oliver and I were snug in our bed, my growing belly between us. I cracked one eye at the silvery golden retriever from which Percy's excited voice came. Two weeks past her due date and impatient, Audrey had delivered another healthy, redheaded girl.

Oliver scrabbled for his wand on the bedside table to send a congratulatory Patronus in return. I struggled to roll over onto my other side, jamming pillows under my belly and between my knees. Just as I was drifting back to sleep, Oliver's arm came around me, one big hand cupped over my swollen belly.

"Did you hear that, Champ?" he half-whispered to my midsection. "Your first playmate has just come into the world. She'll be like a sister to you."

The baby kicked.

"I think he's excited to meet little Miss Weasley already," Oliver said, nuzzling my hair.

I covered his hand with mine. "I think he objects to being called 'Champ.' His name is Euan, Daddy."

Oliver took the next day off from training so that we could visit Percy and Audrey as a family. The door to 5 Appleton Lane opened before we were halfway up the walk. Percy stood on the threshold, shirttail out, glasses askew, wide smile fixed on his face. Oliver greeted his friend with a back-thumping hug. It was brief, but when both men pulled away, their expressions were thick with emotion.

Bobby skipped ahead and grabbed Percy's hand. "I heard it's another girl," he accused with a scowl.

No matter how much Bobby adored his godfather, he could never quite forgive Percy for having daughters.

Percy smiled, taking Bobby by the hand and leading him inside. "Indeed, a beautiful, delicate little girl. She'll need a big protector. Do you think you'll be up to the job?"

"Will I have to kiss her or marry her?"

Oliver and I exchanged a look, both desperately trying to keep from laughing aloud at the sound of utter disgust in our son's voice.

Percy, however, did not even crack a smile. With a perfectly earnest expression, he replied, "No, but you may have to hold her hand on occasion, if you're man enough."

"I reckon," Bobby grumbled. "But can you make the next one a boy?"

A tight smile came to Percy's face. I grabbed Oliver's hand and he squeezed it. We already knew there wouldn't be another one. After all the heartbreak to have this baby, Percy had confided to Oliver that there wouldn't be any more children. Both Percy and Audrey had grown up in large families and neither of them had been keen to follow in their parents' footsteps, but as Percy had put it to Oliver: it was as though the choice had been taken from them.

We were distracted by the appearance of a familiar face and messy black hair. Harry Potter stood in the doorway to the sitting room, a baby boy who was the perfect mix of him and Ginny in his arms. Oliver moved to shake the other man's hand. Our boys, I noted, were starstruck. Bobby and Rory crowded behind Oliver, peering around his legs up at their idol. Campbell, however, shook Harry's hand when prompted, then melted back to stand next to me.

"How is Audrey?" I asked Percy. I put an arm around Campbell's broad shoulders and pulled him against me. At _nearly_ eight, he already stood to my shoulder.

Percy grinned broadly, his eyes lighting up. "Smashing. I mean, she's tired, of course, but grand and-and-smashing!"

I laughed at the normally eloquent wizard.

"Would you like to see them?"

"If she's up to it."

"Yes, of course, right this way."

With one more look at my starstruck boys, I made to follow Percy up the stairs, but was staid by a hand tugging on my jumper. I looked into the anxious face of my nephew. Campbell's features reminded me strongly of Oliver's, but I had seen pictures of his brother Dougal and I knew the boy resembled his father despite his ginger coloring.

"Can I—" he started quietly, then in a stronger voice began again, "May I come see the baby, too, Aunt Kay?"

I looked to Percy who nodded. "Of course."

We found Audrey sitting up in bed with the baby laying across her lap. She did indeed look tired but radiant. An irresistible magnetic pull drew Percy straight to her side where his eyes fell first on his wife, then the baby. One long finger reached out to stroke the little girl's petal-pale cheek.

Audrey tore her eyes away from her little daughter to smile at Campbell and me. "Come," she said, "meet Lucy."

"Here, now," Percy said, looking at me as if I were an invalid, "sit next to Audrey on the bed; I'll bring the baby around."

I did as I was told, exchanging an amused look with Audrey. The Gryffindor male's propensity for chivalry could be quite exasperating, but it had its moments. After I settled against the pillows, Percy placed the little pink bundle in my arms. Miss Lucy rested just above my belly and the baby inside me gave a kick. My breath was taken away at the sight of that beautiful, pink face with the crown of red ringlets. Everything about Lucy was small and graceful, from the ginger eyelashes that lay across her impossibly pale cheek to the turn of her nose to the bow of her pink lips. My heart squeezed, regretful for a moment that I would never have a pretty little daughter like this. Then I wondered what I would do with a daughter, it wasn't as though I would truss up a little girl in ruffles and bows.

"This," Percy said, puffing out his chest, "is Lucille Margaret Weasley."

"Lucille because Percy insisted that she have a proper name," Audrey teased, flashing her husband a devilish grin. "Margaret for my mother, I suppose. But we'll call her Lucy, which is the name I wanted all along."

"She is beautiful," I whispered.

Just then, Oliver came in. "Harry's watching the lads. Or more accurately, they are watching him."

"That doesn't seem fair," I protested. "Their awe can only last so long, and then who knows what they'll get up to."

"Harry's an Auror," Oliver dismissed, clapping a hand on Campbell's shoulder. "I'm sure he can manage two Quidditch mad lads."

"I wouldn't worry, Katie," Percy put in. "Harry is everybody's go-to babysitter."

Audrey snorted. "Only because Harry hasn't figured out how to negotiate the politics of a large family yet. He hasn't figured out how to say 'no' when asked to watch his nieces and nephews. In short, the Weasleys take advantage of the Chosen One."

A blush crept up Percy's neck. "Yes, well, Teddy and Ginny will be here soon; they'll keep the boys occupied."

Oliver walked over to the bed, peering at the pink bundle with a smile. "You look good with a baby in your arms, Mama."

"You want to hold her?" I leaned forward and Oliver easily took the baby from my arms.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Oliver beckoned Campbell to his side. The boy leaned against Oliver's shoulder, looking down at the tiny girl in his godfather's arms. Tentatively, Campbell touched her curls with one finger.

"She's a wee one," he said softly. "Was I this small?"

"I thought you were," Oliver replied. He looked at the boy, who was busy staring at the baby. "But your dad said you were big, like a ham."

Campbell's head came up slowly so that he could look at Oliver. Anxiety clouded the boy's brown eyes, and his mouth was pinched in the corners. I understood now why Campbell had been keen to come up and see the baby. His own birthday was in less than a fortnight, and the idea of fathers and babies must have been weighing heavily on his mind. Catriona and Roberta spoke often of Dougal, filling Campbell with stories of a young man lost too soon. Cal was more reserved when it came to speaking of his dead sons. I'd only heard him talk about them a time or two, in a quiet manner very late at night and fortified with a good deal of Firewhisky. But Campbell looked to Oliver as a way to bridge the gap between himself and what he had never really known.

"A ham?" the boy echoed, not quite sure if he should smile or not.

"Mm-hmm, a small ham, he called you," Oliver said with a nod. "I saw him a few hours after you were born, so you'll have to ask your mum what Dougal thought of you when you came into this world. But I know that I had never seen him happier than he was that day. He loved you with his whole heart."

"And my mum? He-he looked at my mum the way you look at Aunt Kay?"

Oliver shot me a brief glance that warmed me to my toes before returning his attention to his godson. "Aye, and the way your granddad looks at your nan. We learned how to love by watching our parents. But that day, the day you were born, Dougal fell even more in love with your mum than he already was, something I didn't think possible. The two of you—you were his whole world."

Campbell nodded. "Can—May I hold her?"

Ruffling the boy's ginger curls, Oliver shifted the baby into Campbell's arms. The man helped the boy support the little girl's tiny head, keeping one big hand securely under her bottom. Campbell smiled down at her.

"Hello, Lucy," he whispered. "I don't mind that you're a lassie, I reckon, but you'll need to learn how to fly a broomstick because I don't think the lads will want to play with your dolls."

With a small smile affixed to my husband's face, Oliver ran a large hand over the boy's head. Next to me, Audrey sniffled. I looked over to see her leaning against Percy's chest, wiping her eyes with his handkerchief. Percy looked emotional, as well, and no wonder as he'd known Oliver's brothers well. Looking at me over his wife's head, Percy wore a small, proud smiled on his face. I knew we shared the same thought in that moment: that our Quidditch-mad Ollie had grown up to be a good man. Wrapping my arms around my belly, I looked back at my husband with a wonderful, heavy feeling in my chest.

Later that evening, when the lads were all tucked into bed, I found Oliver in the library poring over his playbook. I loved it when he took a day off from training—a rare occasion indeed—but the downside was that he would throw himself into Quidditch over the next weeks to make up for it. Walking up behind him, I ran my fingers across his broad shoulders, and dropped into his lap. His playbook fell to the floor, parchment going everywhere.

"You wanted something, Mrs. Wood?" he asked, one eyebrow arched.

I pinned on an innocent smile. "Am I disturbing you?"

A swish of my wand reorganized his parchments and floated his playbook safely to the desk across the room.

"I was thinking," Oliver began as he rubbed my belly.

"Never a safe pastime."

"Hush, you." He reached around to squeeze my bottom. "I was thinking, the Weasleys had a girl with Ginny, maybe the Woods could have a girl, too, if you wanted one."

"And what?" I asked with a laugh. "Have seven babies until we finally have a girl? I am not giving you your own, personal Quidditch team, Wood."

Oliver shrugged. "It was a thought. Lucy was so pretty and little."

"I think she was little because her mama and papa have small builds. Any daughter of ours would have an ox for a papa."

Oliver shrugged again, his cheeks turning rosy and mumbled, "It was just a thought."

"Say," I said, stroking his hair, "I wanted to tell you that I thought you did really well with Campbell today."

Oliver shot me an anxious look. He was always treading a careful line with Campbell, whom he'd helped raise since infancy. He loved Campbell like a son, no different from Bobby or Rory, and it was the same for the both of us. But Oliver was mindful that Campbell was, in fact, his brother's child. I think Oliver feared betraying Dougal's memory if he usurped the role of father to Campbell, though he would never come right out and say as much. What he didn't realize was that he already was Campbell's father in all the ways that mattered. Though I hadn't known Dougal, I did know Catriona, and I suspected that was exactly what Dougal had in mind when he asked Oliver to be godfather.

"I think you told Campbell exactly what he needed to hear," I told Oliver, still stroking his hair.

He rubbed my belly for a while, the baby moving under his hand. Finally, he said, "I try not to dwell on what-ifs, but I think Dougal would have been proud of Campbell."

"Of course he would have been. And I am sure that he would have been proud of what a good job you and Catriona have done raising his son."

Oliver looked at me before looking away.

I tucked my head onto his shoulder, tracing shapes over his heart with my fingers. "You're a good father, Oliver. It's why I keep having your babies."

"I thought it was because we couldn't perform a decent contraceptive charm," he said with a watery laugh.

"That, too," I agree and cuddled into him.

 


	6. Chapter Five

27 weeks

I finished in the loo, Rory standing next to the sink waiting for me to be done. One of the things that no one ever told me about motherhood was the complete lack of privacy. I could scarcely remember the last time I used the loo without a little boy accompanying me. Given that Campbell, Bobby and Rory were close in age, there was a brief time when I'd had three boys crowded in the room with me.

"Mummy," Rory said, eyeing my belly, "why did the new baby make you so fat?"

For a moment, I simply stared at the top of his dark head. Irrationally, my feelings were hurt even though I knew he didn't mean it the way it sounded. Still, the fact remained that I had gained more weight this time around. My arse looked about twice its normal size. All in all, I was not cute.

"Because he's growing big and strong inside of me," I said.

Rory gave me a strange look. "How did he get into your tummy? Did you eat him?"

I laughed. "Come on, you, before I eat you."

I hoisted Rory up and carried him into the sitting room where Oliver was chatting with both of our fathers.

"That one inherited the Wood charm," I said, and dumped the little boy into my husband's lap.

"Uh-oh. What did you do, Ror?" Oliver began tickling the little boy whose shrieking giggles filled the room.

Christmas had come to Red's Wood. We had a houseful with both of our families present for the holiday. I had ceded my kitchen to Roberta a week ago, grateful that she still preferred to do most of the cooking herself. My entire home had smelled of cookies, tarts and scones for seven wonderful days. Being pregnant, I was relegated to a chair at the kitchen table rolling out dough and eating cookie batter.

Hm, that could explain the size of my arse.

Crossing through the foyer, I spied Campbell and Bobby under the hall table with sticks in hand. Between them was the 12-week-old Border Collie puppy that Campbell's Muggle grandparents had given him for Christmas.

"But I want to be Harry Potter this time," Campbell insisted.

"I got to meet him so _I_ get to be Harry Potter," Bobby replied.

"I met him, too."

"But only for a second," Bobby reasoned. "I talked to him a long time while you went to see the stupid baby."

"We're going to have our own baby soon, you know."

I saw Bobby shrug from the corner of my eye. "Aye, but ours is going to be a boy."

"I still say it's my turn to be Harry Potter," Campbell said, his brow lowering over his eyes stubbornly.

"You can be Ron Weasley," Bobby replied.

"I'm _always_ Ron Weasley."

"Aye, well, you're ginger!"

I left the boys to it, laughing to myself. Campbell could be pushed and pushed, but when he'd had enough, he had quite the temper on him. On the other hand, Bobby was bloody single-minded. Roberta said they were like their fathers, and I was inclined to agree. Chances were they'd come to blows before they came to a compromise. Oliver could sort them out this time.

I waddled towards the kitchen where Roberta, Catriona and my mother were congregating over tea. As I neared the warmth of the kitchen, I heard a new voice. Alex had finally showed up.

"I thought you were bringing Richard, love," Roberta was saying.

I walked in just in time to see Alex's rueful grin. "Ah, well, Richard and I broke up."

One of Roberta's eyebrows cocked. "Oh?"

"I found him with another man," Alex said, accepting a cup of tea from Catriona.

"I doubt that's the whole story," Catriona said. The corners of her mouth were turned up.

"So astute," Alex agreed. "I might have been bringing home another man myself when I found Richard in bed with…Ben, I think his name was. It was—"

"Awkward?" I supplied as I took the chair next to my mum. For her part, she was looking rather uncomfortable.

"Embarrassing?" Catriona chimed in.

"Shameful," Roberta said flatly, eyeing her son beadily. "I am certain that I did not raise you to be so…so _loose_ , Alexander."

Alex blushed. "I'm young and charming, Mum, just sowing my oats."

"Hmph, I don't see why that should mean you have to shag everything in trousers."

"Not everything, Mum, I promise," Alex beseeched, but then ruined it with a cheeky grin. "Just the good-looking ones."

Roberta finally smiled. She grabbed Alex's face and kissed his cheek with a smack. "Oh, you!" she admonished. "Do be careful, my love."

Mum cleared her throat. "I'm surprised you can speak so openly with Alex, Roberta. I remember explaining the birds and the bees to Katie and it was awful."

"I second that," I put in, not making eye contact with anybody at the table.

That alarming conversation had come just a week before I was to leave for Hogwarts for the first time. Mum had stammered through the whole speech, which seemed as though it had lasted three hours. In the end, I had been left mystified that men and woman actually did _that_. Much less that I would bleed once a month and that this would be viewed as perfectly normal. A few years down the road, I was glad for Angelina and Alicia who helpfully filled in the holes in my knowledge.

"Oh, well, I've raised four sons, so not much shocks me these days," Roberta responded with a dismissive wave of her hand. "My second, Fergus, had a different girl for every city in Scotland."

Catriona snorted. "England, too."

"And Dougal," Roberta went on with a pointed look at Catriona, "got caught in every broom cupboard in Hogwarts his sixth year with a certain ginger Hufflepuff."

Catriona blushed hotly. "Aye, well, at least it was only one witch."

"I got thirteen letters from McGonagall that year. Thirteen. That was more than Fergus in all of his years at school, despite all the mischief he got up to. More than Oliver and Alex combined. I sent Howlers—"

Catriona cringed. "Those were rather humiliating."

"Good," Roberta said curtly, though her eyes held a far off look. "Makes us even for the dreadful conversations I had to have with your mother."

"Imagine the conversations I had to have with her!"

Alex and I exchanged looks, then burst out laughing.

Roberta bit her lips as if she were trying to keep from smiling herself. "I had Cal pull Dougal aside at Christmas _and_ Easter, but I still got letters home."

"Well," Catriona said, and she grinned, shooting Roberta a sidelong look, "once you start having sex, it's hard to stop."

Roberta laughed. "Aye, well, you have, haven't you? Perhaps you should consider remedying that."

Silence descended on the kitchen like a blanket of snow. Catriona's face grew even redder than it had been before. My mum looked utterly shocked. I was as well, truth be told, though I suspect not for the same reasons. To the best of my knowledge, Catriona didn't date or, well, anything else. It was something of which we never spoke. As I stared at my hands curled in my lap, I realized rather shamefully that I thought of her only as Dougal's widow.

Alex was the first to rally. "Mum," he exclaimed. "Are you encouraging _Catriona_ to shag anything in trousers?"

"No, that's not what I—" Roberta blushed this time. She swatted Alex's arm. "Well, it's not what meant. I just meant that it's been nearly eight years and perhaps she should think about dating again."

Catriona gripped her tea cup. "Well, I have a son to raise."

Roberta's eyes were sad, her posture very tense. I could see that she regretted her words.

Finally, she curled her hand around Catriona's and said, "And may he give you as much trouble as his father gave me."

"Cheers!" Catriona burst into laughter. "I'll make sure all letters home are directed to you."

The two women hugged, still laughing.

_BOOM_!

The house shook. My mum screamed. Catriona and Roberta broke apart, wands slicing through the air. I struggled out of my chair, my own wand gripped in my white-knuckled hand.

"Where did that…" Alex asked. He too had his wand out, but he was looking wide-eyed and tense.

"The foyer…" Roberta murmured, walking purposefully to the door.

I gasped as if I'd been hit with a Bludger, my eyes going wide. "Bobby and Campbell!"

There was a flash of red hair flying through the air, then Catriona barreled past Roberta down the hall. I made to follow but was waylaid by my brother-in-law. Alex had a death grip on my arms, pushing me back.

"Get the bloody hell out of my way, Alex," I snarled, glowering up at him.

"You have to stay back, Katie," he said breathlessly.

"My son is out there!"

"Oliver is only a few feet away."

"So is Rory," I snapped.

Tears came to my eyes. Unbidden, images of the Battle of Hogwarts flashed through my mind. Exploding walls. Collapsing towers. Smoke, screams, hysteria. I saw Oliver flying low over the school grounds, flanked by Angelina, Alicia and myself. I saw Alicia being blown off her broom. I saw Fred lying so still…

And then I saw Campbell and Bobby's bodies on the floor. I saw Oliver charging in. I saw Rory flanking Oliver…

I pushed against Alex with all my strength, but he dug his heels in, only being moved inches.

"Move, or I'll hex you."

"I can't do that," Alex said stubbornly. His mouth was set and his brows lowered over his eyes like a thundercloud. He looked like Oliver and my boys.

"Alex is right, Katie," Mum said gently, putting her arms around my shoulders.

I shook her off. "My boys—Oliver is out there. They need me."

"Oliver would kill me if I let you and the baby out of my protection, Katie," Alex pleaded. He touched my belly, and the baby elbowed me sharply in the ribs. "You have to keep this one safe."

I folded my arms around my midsection, my mouth thinning into a flat line. It went against my very nature to stay put. All my Gryffindor brashness screamed for me to fight. Every maternal instinct clamored to get to my children, to keep them safe. And a small, insistent voice said to stay put. I would be a distraction if the worst happened. I would be a liability that Oliver and our boys couldn't afford. I couldn't put Oliver into a position to choose between me and the baby and our boys. A second's hesitation…

I shivered, my eyes closing in resignation.

Oliver would protect our boys. It was up to me to keep the baby safe.

Mum gripped my upper arms again. "Listen, dear."

Concentrating on my surroundings, I realized that there was no more than the normal buzz of voices and scraping of boots on hardwood. Alex straightened, also coming to the realization that for all our fear, things seemed to be normal beyond the kitchen.

"I'll-I'll just check it out, then," Alex said. His wand hand was trembling and his face was very pale. I remembered that Alex had been a second year that year at Hogwarts. He had been tortured and had seen other children tortured.

Resolutely, he turned, wand held out before him. Not for the first time I wondered why Alex hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor like his brothers ahead of him. Jerkily, he stalked down the hall. Halfway to the foyer, I heard Alex beckon to me. I surged forward without hesitation.

Pushing passed my brother-in-law, I saw a hole blasted open where the front door should have been. Snow swirled in the air, a frigid gust of wind blowing in. Campbell stood in the middle of the foyer wide-eyed and pale, with black soot on his face, and curls singed. Oliver and Cal were circling the area with wands in hand while Roberta held Rory. My dad stood beside her looking at once amazed and frightened.

"What happened?" I demanded, my voice high and reedy.

"Campbell," Catriona said softly as she took her son by the shoulders. "Did you do this?"

"N-no," he stammered loudly. "Me and Bobby were playing Harry Potter. He pointed his stick at the door and-and there was a loud bang and smoke…and I don't know what happened."

Catriona pulled Campbell close, stroking his hair.

"Don't worry, love," Roberta said. She came closer so she too could stroke Campbell's curls. "This is a house full of little wizards; loud bangs are a daily occurrence."

"Where _is_ Bobby?" I asked, looking around for his familiar mop of dark hair.

Slowly, my eyes swept the room to meet Oliver's. Bobby was nowhere to be seen.

"Maybe he's hiding in his room," Alex suggested.

He walked past me to take the stairs two at a time. I could scarcely breathe as I stared at Oliver's still form. The sound of doors opening and closing and Alex's voice calling Bobby's name could be heard plainly from above stairs. I knew—somehow I knew—Bobby wasn't upstairs and Alex's empty-handed return proved me correct. Deliberately, Oliver turned to stare at the hole that was our front door.

"He probably just scared himself," Roberta said. "I'm sure he's just hiding."

"Aye, lass," Oliver said, coming to place his big hands on my shoulders. "I'm sure that's it. Look around the house just in case and I'll go search the grounds."

A glance out the hole showed what I already knew: that there was three feet of snow on the ground. Images circled in my mind of Bobby hurt or bleeding while he trudged through the snow without a cloak or a warming spell. Curling my hands in Oliver's shirt front, I tried to master the impulse to rush out into the snow myself and search. My husband's arms came around me, and that's when I realized that I was trembling.

"Shh," Oliver murmured. "I think I know where he is, lass. I'll find our lad and bring him home to you, I promise."

"I'll go, too," Catriona said.

Oliver pulled away to look at his sister-in-law. "Maybe you should stay with Katie."

"No," I insisted. I squared my shoulders and concentrated on calming myself. "Catriona should go with you, in case Bobby needs medical attention."

"I can heal most anything," Oliver argued. Then he looked at my set face and relented. "Aye, alright then. Alex, you with me?"

"I'll get the brooms," Alex said, already summoning his coat and rushing outside.

"I'll go, too, Uncle Oliver," Campbell insisted. His brow lowered over his eyes, his mouth set in a firm line. Merlin, all Wood men were identical in their stubbornness.

"Sorry, Campbell, not this time," Oliver said, already walking past the boy.

Campbell grabbed Oliver's sleeve. "Bobby's my little brother, and I want to help if he's in trouble."

Oliver stopped and regarded his nephew fully. Pride was shining in my husband's eyes. This had been the reason we'd moved to Red's Wood all those years ago, why Catriona had stayed close to the family: so the boys could grow up like brothers. I wondered if Oliver was hearing echoes of his own brothers in that moment.

Clapping the boy on the shoulder, Oliver stooped down to be at his eye level. "I need you to be a man now," Oliver said in a low voice. "Take care of your Aunt Kay for me."

The boy frowned, then nodded his head. "Aye, I can do that for you."

I looked from Oliver's stoic face to Catriona's. She stood alone in the corner by the stairs. Her normally pale face was white and her eyes were shiny as she stared at Oliver and Campbell.

With a visible shake, Catriona cleared her throat. "C'mon, Ollie, it's not good for Bobby to be out in this cold."

The wait felt like hours that stretched on in a hollow hush, though it could hardly have been more than 40 minutes. Cal went about boarding up the front door until we could replace it. My dad offered to help, but as Cal was using a wand and not a hammer, there wasn't much Dad could do other than watch. Meanwhile, Roberta led Rory in a thorough search of the house, but none of us thought Bobby was safely inside. I hovered between the kitchen and the foyer, pacing restlessly. My mum watched me from her post by the kitchen door, but Campbell wouldn't leave my side. He had a very serious expression on his young face, obviously taking the job Oliver had given him to heart.

Finally, as I paced in the foyer, I heard the back door open. Rushing back to the kitchen, I found Bobby standing in the middle of it, Oliver right behind him. A guttural cry clawed up the back of my throat and died there out of relief. My boy looked so small as he stared up at me with big, pensive eyes. His face was black with soot, but otherwise he was just fine. I swooped down on him, wrapping him in my arms and smothering him in kisses.

"Daddy said I scared you real bad," Bobby said in a small voice. His arms were around my neck, hands clutching at my back. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to blow up the house."

I held him at arm's length so I could look into his face. He was very pale under the soot, and tear tracks cut paths down his cheeks. "The explosion was scary, but you disappearing was much scarier. Don't ever run away like that again."

"I'm sorry, Mummy," he whispered and I saw tears glisten in his dark eyes.

"What else did I say?" Oliver said, patting Bobby on the back.

Bobby rolled his eyes. "That 'cause I scared you so bad, I had to let you fuss over me."

A watery laugh bubbled up in my throat. I pulled him into my arms again, squeezing him tight. "Absolutely, young man! I am free to kiss and hug you for the rest of the day and no complaining."

I looked up at Oliver, and knew the love and gratitude I felt for him was shining in my eyes. I could see it in the way he blushed under my gaze. Merlin, how I loved this man, my hero. He reached down and touched my face.

"Let's get your mum off the floor, shall we?" Oliver said gruffly.

As Oliver helped me into the chair, the rest of the family filed into the kitchen. The other boys converged on Bobby. Rory hugged his brother and Campbell ruffled his hair. Cal cast an Undetectable Expansion charm on the room when it seemed ready to burst due to all of its occupants.

"So, what happened?" Roberta asked.

"Would you like to tell them, or shall I?" Oliver asked Bobby. The boy shook his head, his eyes skittering away from the adults. "Bobby had his first bout of accidental magic."

"I didn't mean it!" he exclaimed. "We were playing and I thought about blowing something up—but just pretend. Then the front door just…exploded!"

"That's pretty impressive, squirt," Alex said. "My first magic was to summon biscuits down from the counter."

Blushing, Bobby came to stand between my legs. He laid his head against the top of my mounded belly, his arms wrapped around it as far as they would go, and I stroked his hair. The baby inside of me did a somersault, causing my whole stomach to contort and change shape. Bobby frowned at him and muttered something about little brothers and nuisances.

"I remember your daddy's first magic," Roberta announced. She stooped down to look Bobby in the face. "He turned his brother Fergus green. It took me two days to get him turned back the right color."

"In my defense," Oliver drawled with a grin, "I was trying to turn him into a frog."

"And did you ever?" I asked, smiling up at Oliver. "Turn him into a frog, that is?"

Oliver laughed. "My seventh year after I mastered human transfiguration."

"Not that any of you should _ever_ turn somebody into an animal," warned Catriona, swatting Oliver on the arm. "It took me an hour to turn Fergus back and neither you nor Dougal would lift a wand to help me. Thought it was dead funny, they did."

"I'm sure he had it coming," Cal said with a sly grin.

"What was your first magic, Mummy?" Bobby asked, looking up at me.

"I don't know," I answered. "Growing up as a Muggle, we never recognized the strange things that happened around me as magic."

"I remember."

The voice could barely be heard over the din of the kitchen. Still, I looked to my mother who was glowing with a happiness I hadn't seen on her in a long time. She came over to pat Bobby's cheek.

"Maybe it wasn't her first," Mum said, and the room quieted, "but I remember when your mother was eight, she was tired of her pink room. She wanted me to paint it _right now_. She was a terrible brat about it. Threw a dreadful temper tantrum."

"Muuuuuuuum," I whinged.

"Well, you did," Mum insisted, looking at me with delight in her eyes. "You were a bit spoiled, I'm afraid, being an only child. You always wanted things done your way when you wanted it."

"So, not much has changed," Oliver teased.

I reached around to swat his leg, but he was quicker than me.

Mum sent Oliver an amused glance. It was rare that she looked at Oliver with anything nearing affection. The two of them had come to something of a stalemate, but I often thought Mum blamed Oliver for my disappearance during the war. I remembered that I never told her I was leaving—that just like Bobby, I was gone when my mum wasn't looking. It had been Oliver who had gone to my parents and explained that I was in hiding. For nine months, my mother was left to wonder if I was alive and well. I squeezed Bobby nearer, shame coming over me. There had been time; I could have gone to her and told her myself that I was leaving, but I had selfishly wanted to spend that time with Oliver.

"Anyway," Mum continued, "I was explaining to your mother that I could not simply paint the room in that instant when there was a flash of light and the whole room turned yellow. I-I was astonished, to say the least, but your mum was very pleased."

"That must have been frightening for you," Catriona said.

"Yes," Mum agreed. "I went into a bit of denial, I reckon, but yes, I was very frightened. I knew that Katie was special in a way that I could never understand and I didn't know what to do for her so I…just pretended that it didn't happen."

I reached out and took my mother's hand. "Thank you for telling us that story."

"It's long overdue, isn't it?" A small smile came to her face.

"Well," Cal said, clapping his hands. "First magic is a big thing. Bobby should get something extra special."

"He can have the turkey leg," Alex said, then flashed a cheeky grin at his mother. "If we ever eat, that is."

Roberta pursed her lips. "Careful, you, or it will be porridge for Christmas dinner. Which, by and by, should be on the table in a trice. You lads get washed up!"

Bobby pulled away from me and ran after his brothers to the washroom. Mum offered to help Roberta lay the table, who smiled graciously at the offer. Cal slapped Oliver on the back and asked if he wanted to carve the turkey this year and I went over to the wireless to turn on a Christmas program to accompany our holiday dinner. Smoothing one hand over my belly, I glanced out the window to see that it was snowing again.


	7. Chapter Six

_33 Weeks_

"Mum, I wasn't expecting you."

Finding my Muggle mother standing in my snow-covered garden on a Tuesday morning was a surprise on many levels. For one, she should have been at work; she found her career fulfilling and continued to take on new cases despite the fact she could easily retire. For another, a Muggle couldn't simply drive up to Red's Wood—not even my mother. There were all manner of Muggle repelling enchantments around the property to prevent just such an occurrence. Any time my parents or Catriona's came for a visit, one of us Apparated them to the estate.

"How did you get here?" I blurted out, wiping my hands on a tea towel. I trudged out of the house to give her a hug.

"I brought her," said Roberta, appearing on the walk behind Mum. "Peg sent me an owl saying she'd like to come help out with the boys until the baby comes."

I stood rooted to the cobblestones, staring agape at my mother. Roberta walked around us, patting my belly on her way by. Mum had not offered to help out with my previous pregnancies, neither before nor after the baby was born. Suffice it to say the idea that she wanted to help with this one came as a bit of a shock.

"Are-are you sure, Mum?" I asked. "It's not just Bobby and Rory, there's Campbell as well. They are rowdy lads. They have a lot of energy and they roughhouse and—"

"Katie, I wouldn't be here if I wasn't sure," Mum said. She put an arm around me and turned me back to the house.

"I just—I don't want you to be overwhelmed or shocked." I realized that I was twisting the tea towel and made myself relax my hold on it. "I try—I do my best—But they are spirited, country lads—Not that there's anything… and they have good hearts, but maybe they are not what you would call well brought up?"

The corners of Mum's mouth twitched. "You're rambling, dear. Do come inside."

Inside, we found the boys still at breakfast. The minute Gram Peg walked through the door, forks dropped onto plates with a clatter. Bobby and Rory met her at the door with hugs, talking at her with full mouths. Campbell held back with a more polite greeting, while his puppy Beau circled around everybody's legs yipping impatiently until somebody finally patted his head.

"Alright, lads, bring your plates to the sink and get out your school supplies," I announced after the initial buzz of greeting Gram had died down.

The older boys grumbled but did as they were told. Rory brought up the rear, but as he neared the sink, he let go of his plate. It crashed to the ground and busted with a bang, bits of egg and shards of stoneware flying everywhere.

"Rory!" I yelled, shooing the dog away from the dropped food. "Why did you do that?"

He looked up at me. "I was trying to magic it to the counter."

I huffed, propping my hands on my hips. "Rory!"

"Don't fuss, Katie," Mum said. "I'll just get the broom and clean it right up."

I glanced up at her. "Thank you, but I have this." With a swish of my wand I Banished the mess to the bin.

"Well, that's a time saver, isn't it?"

"Sorry, Mummy," Rory muttered.

I looked down at him and sighed. He'd been trying to do magic since Christmas. Rory was determined never to be left behind and he hated that Bobby had shown magic when he hadn't yet. Roberta assured me that it was quite normal for a boy Rory's age not to have done any magic yet—certainly, neither Campbell nor Bobby had. This logic was completely lost on Rory, however, as he was determined to be able to do anything his older brothers did. Oliver had endless amounts of patience for this behavior, but yet another broken plate was wearing my own patience thin.

Without so much as a glance at my mother, I addressed Rory, "I have spoken to you about this before."

His jaw jutted out. "Aye, but…"

"No," I snapped, "no more 'aye-buts'. I don't want any more broken dishes and your magic will come on its own time." I took a deep breath. I knew I was doing this wrong. "Just-just go get your colors."

I turned back to the sink, knowing that not only my own mother, but also Oliver's, were staring at me. I filled the sink with sudsy water, Banished the leftover food from the plates and Levitated them into the water. Only once the scrub brush was employed did I turn around to offer a smile to the room at large. The day could only get better.

oOo

"Rory!" I contorted myself around my huge belly to look under the table where my youngest was wrestling with the dog again. "Get out from under there!"

I righted myself just in time to be whacked in the face with a paper Quaffle.

"Bobby!"

He pointed at Campbell who was sitting on my other side. "He made it!"

"And you were throwing it," I said through gritted teeth. "Have you finished your sums yet?"

Bobby lowered his head. "No," he muttered.

"You've been at work on them all morning. We need to move onto our reading."

"Perhaps we should skip reading today," Roberta said as she breezed into the kitchen.

"Yeah!" chorused the older boys.

Campbell closed his book.

"Campbell!" I admonished, then turned to my mother-in-law. "Roberta!"

"We'll pick it up tomorrow," she said with a shrug as she prepared a tea tray.

"But they have a schedule…"

"And sometimes schedules are meant to be chucked. It's obvious nothing will get done today. I can take the boys out for their science experiment—"

This was met with cheers. Campbell, especially, liked the hands-on learning, but they all preferred anything to do with the outdoors no matter what the temperature was. I pursed my lips, glancing momentarily at my mother before turning my glare on Roberta.

"Katie, you've been doing this long enough to know that flexibility is key," Roberta said.

"I also know the importance of routine," I argued.

"Aye, we might as well give routine up as a bad job today and go with the flow."

"Katie," Mum said. "I think Roberta is correct. Let the boys go out and I'll help make lunch."

"We don't have a microwave, Mum," I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest. "How are you going to make lunch?"

I don't know which was worse: the look of hurt on my mum's face or the look of reproach in Roberta's. This whole day had gone to hell the moment Mum had walked through the door. It was all I could do to keep the boys on task, let alone anything else. It was usually during sums that I could work with Rory on his alphabet, but not today. Nor had I managed to lay out anything for dinner that night or get the dishes put away or the wash started. For all my mum was supposed to be here to help, it felt as if all my work was piling up.

"Put your supplies away, boys, and get your cloaks," Roberta said.

When the boys scurried away, Roberta plunked the tea tray down on the table and gave me a hard look. I felt for all the world like an ill-behaved child. I even flushed as if I were guilty of something.

Finally, all three boys and the dog rushed out the back door, and the house grew quiet. I rubbed my thumbnail against a groove in the ancient kitchen table that had been passed down along with the house to generations of Woods. It was scarred, but solid, the base on which thousands of meals and lessons had been laid.

"I suspect that my presence here has caused more trouble than it has helped," Mum said as she poured two cups of tea. She fixed mine with one spoonful of sugar and a splash of milk, just the way I liked it, and set it in front of me. "Maybe I shouldn't come around after all."

I deflated, slumping in my chair. "No, no, I appreciate it. How often were you thinking of coming?"

"Once a week until the baby was born. I could help with the laundry or the cleaning… anything you wanted me to do."

"I do all that by magic, Mum. I don't have any modern appliances to assist with that."

"Oh." There was a long pause. "Well, I don't need magic or a washing machine to fold clothes and put them away, now do I?"

I looked at my mum for a long time. She was already middle aged with a successful career and no real plans for parenthood when I was born. I was a miracle—that's what my parents told me—the child they'd never expected to have. However, I suspected that I was never what my mother wanted in a daughter.

"You really want to come up here once a week merely to fold laundry?" I asked at length.

Mum moved her hand as if to take mine but then pulled it back. "We have had a fair few strained years, Katie, and I want to make up for it."

Tears threatened to spill down my cheeks. I clenched my hands into fists in my lap, digging my nails into my palms to keep from crying. "Now? Why? Nothing's changed. I'm still the daughter who has disappointed you again and again."

"Oh, Katie, no," she said, and tears were in her eyes now. "You've never disappointed me."

"Don't lie, Mum," I snapped. "When I got pregnant and married at 19, you were certainly not jumping for joy. You thought my life was over."

She opened her mouth and closed it again. "Yes, it's true, I did, but I was wrong. I see that now."

"Because this morning was such a stellar example of the joys of motherhood."

"You think I don't know that motherhood has its ups and downs just because I worked full-time while you were growing up?"

I snorted.

"Katie, you know that I was married young," she said. "I did what was expected of me and I was miserable. I count myself lucky never to have conceived at that young age so that I could make a clean break from my husband. When I saw you pregnant at 19, I feared that you were making the same mistakes that I had, but that you would be trapped by them."

"I love Oliver, Mum," I said. "I did then and I do now."

"Do you think I didn't love my first husband?" she asked, eyebrows raised. "I certainly thought I did. How was I supposed to know that what you and Oliver had was any more real than what I had with him?"

She folded her hands in her lap, looking very weary. "And I had only just gotten you back, only to lose you to this man. I was selfish. I wanted to keep you."

I sniffed loudly, tears rolling down my cheeks. "No, I was selfish. I left during the war without saying a word to you. It wasn't fair of me."

Mum sighed. "That did hurt."

"I'm sorry," I said in a small voice, looking at her.

"So am I, love."

Without hesitation, she got up from her chair, came around the table and hugged me. I wrapped my arms tightly around her shoulders even as I buried my face in her neck to cry.

oOo

A few days later, I was lying in bed after putting the boys down for the night. Oliver had an away match, and the team was required to stay together at a hotel in the host city. In a few weeks, we would be close enough to my due date that this requirement would be waved. It hadn't always been that way, but Puddlemere changed their policy when Oliver had nearly missed Rory's birth because he was in Appleby.

On this particular night, however, I was on my own.

"Mummy?"

I pushed myself up on my elbow to see Rory standing in the door.

"You're supposed to be in bed, young man."

He yawned largely. "'m not tired."

"Well, you know the rule: you don't have to go to sleep, but you do have to stay in bed."

Rory shuffled over to the bed, his crimson and gold Gryffindor blanket dragging behind him. "I could sleep with you… until Daddy comes home."

I had to bite my lips to keep from smiling. Rory was a whirlwind in bed—he turned every which way and was as likely as not to wake up with feet on the pillow. He might sleep peacefully, but I wouldn't. Well, I wasn't getting a good night's rest anyway, between the trips to the bathroom, the Herculean effort required to roll over, and the jabs to the ribs I took on a regular basis. Not to mention that the heartburn had set in, as well as mountain troll-like snoring. Ah, the glories of late pregnancy.

"Well, maybe just for a little bit," I said in a stage whisper and gave Rory a wink.

I scooted over to make room for Rory, who scrambled into bed next to me. That's when I noticed that he was clutching a piece of parchment in his hand.

"What's that?" I asked, pointing to the parchment.

He held it up so I could see it was an airplane. My dad had taught the boys to make paper airplanes, though he complained that it was harder with parchment; it made for sloppier lines. Rory tossed the airplane, staring at it intently as it floated rather pathetically to the ground. When it crash landed, he folded his arms over his chest and harrumphed.

"Were you trying to make it fly with magic?" I asked, combing my fingers through his dark hair.

He looked up at me with big blue eyes like my own, and I saw that they were shimmering with unshed tears. He nodded his head mutely, then stuck out his bottom lip. I did my best not to laugh—no matter how comical his pathetic little face was. Instead, I pushed his lip back in and kissed his forehead. He'd just had a bath and smelled like chamomile and lavender. Tomorrow, he'd smell like dirt again, so I savored the short-lived scent of clean boy.

"You know your magic will come in its own time," I said. "Probably when you least expect it."

"But I want it _now_! Bobby can do magic, it's not fair!"

"Bobby is older. When you're older, you'll do magic, too. I know it's hard, but you have to be patient."

Rory's face turned into a stubborn mask. "I hate being patient."

I just smiled. "Patience is dead hard."

"Aye."

"But good things come to those who wait." I rubbed my belly. "Like me, I've waited almost a whole year and soon I'll have a new baby. That's a good thing."

"I guess." Rory looked at my belly as if it might eat him up. "Why did you want 'nother baby? You already had me."

"But you're not a baby; you're a big boy."

He rolled over so that he was facing me and placed a hand on my belly, his five little fingers splayed out like a starfish. "That's true," he said slowly.

"Are you excited to be a big brother?"

Just then the baby kicked. Rory's eyes went round.

"Make him do it again."

Since about 28 weeks I'd been wearing Oliver's old t-shirts to bed. This one was a very stretched out Gryffindor shirt that some enthusiastic Lions had given him after a game a few years ago. I pulled it up to reveal the great expanse of my swollen belly. Across the pink globe, blue veins meandered like roads alongside the valleys and ridges of raw and shiny stretch marks.

Just then, the baby pressed against the wall of my womb, creating a bump on the surface. Rory got up on his knees, his brow furrowed. The bump disappeared only to be replaced by two quick ripples in my skin. Rory and I laughed at the antics of the baby. This was my favorite part of pregnancy and one I knew I would miss when it was over. There was something special about seeing and feeling my baby moving inside of me. It was a reminder that he was alive and well.

When the baby pressed against my belly again (a hand this time), Rory pressed back.

"Gentle," I reminded him as the impression disappeared and reappeared again. Giggling, Rory pushed against the baby's hand. This went on and on until I was laughing, too. I was going to have to make a trip to the loo soon or I would be in danger of peeing myself.

"What's this?"

I looked up to see Oliver standing in the doorway with the duffle bag he packed for away matches still slung over his shoulder. There was snow in his dark hair, his cheeks pink from the cold. He was smiling. Merlin, he was gorgeous.

Dropping the bag onto the floor, he sauntered over to the bed and scooped Rory up. "Aren't you supposed to be in bed, laddie?"

Rory let out a shriek of laughter. "I was playing with the baby," he said proudly.

"Is that so?" Oliver sat on the edge of the bed with Rory in his lap. He reached out and laid a hand on my stomach, making me squeal.

"Watch the cold hands, there!"

He pulled back with a sheepish smile. "Sorry."

"I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow," I said, pulling my shirt over my belly.

"I claimed a pregnancy-related emergency to make an early escape."

"Ol-i-ver!"

He grinned widely, but otherwise ignored me. "What do you think of finally being a big brother, Ror?"

"Okay, I s'pose."

"He'll need somebody to teach him how to fly and climb trees," Oliver said. "Big brothers look out for little brothers, you know. Do you reckon you're big enough for all that?"

Rory puffed out his little chest, pointing at himself with his thumb. "I big."

"Hm, I'm not sure," Oliver said. He scratched his chin, looking Rory over appraisingly. "You look a little puny to me."

Rory flexed his arm. "I strong. Feel!"

Oliver squeezed the small bicep. "That _is_ impressive. I think you'll do."

"I be big-uh, I b-better big-big brother than… than Bobby!"

My husband smirked. "Well, you won't be a big anything if you don't get your sleep." He stood, slinging Rory over his broad shoulder and patting him on the bottom. "Come on, you, off to bed. I want your mummy all to myself."

"G'night, Mummy!" Rory called from his perch on his daddy's shoulder.

Oliver looked at me over his other shoulder and gave me a wink. "Don't move. I'll be right back and we can work on warming up my hands."

I grinned back, but started scooting out of bed. Time for the loo!

 


	8. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter after this one, but I will post a new story featuring Katie and Oliver on Friday. It's a one-shot and a bit sexy...so watch out for that one.

37 Weeks

From the kitchen window, I could see the lads hovering over the snow-covered ground on their toy broomsticks. Campbell flew slightly higher on the brand-new Cleansweep 17 he'd gotten for his birthday, a broom Oliver called a good starter. It had taken me twenty minutes to wrestle the boys into heavy winter cloaks, boots, scarves and mittens, complete with Impervious charms to keep the snow from soaking through their clothes and warming spells for extra protection. As the wind ruffled their cloaks, they tossed a Quaffle back and forth in a game of Don't-Let-It-Drop. Beau was running around under them, barking as the ball glided over his head.

"Here, dear, I have your tea ready," Mum called from the table. "You should sit while you can."

I wiped my hands on the tea towel. It had been a good day. Lessons had gone well, I was caught up on chores, and now all that remained was to make supper, but I had time for a quick cuppa before. Glancing out the window once more, I saw the tall, burly figure of my husband striding up the walk earlier than expected. Campbell tossed him the Quaffle, while the younger two flew figure-eights around him and cried out loud greetings.

"Oliver's home." I crossed to the backdoor and opened it. "Oi, Wood, you are full of surprises lately."

He tossed the Quaffle back to Campbell. The boy reached out, his fingertips curling around the red ball and he pulled it into his chest. Oliver grinned up at him.

"Did you see that catch, Katie?" He climbed up the step to the door with a wide grin. "That one's going to be a Keeper, you watch."

I stepped back so he could enter. Oliver's dark hair was windswept and his cheeks were pink. I brushed snow from his shoulders.

"Did you fly in?"

"Aye. Good day for it—cool, crisp, and clear." He bent to kiss me as he pulled off his gloves. "You'll be back on a broomstick soon enough, lass."

I stuck my lip out in a mock pout. "What's brought you home so early?"

"Let off for good behavior." Oliver hung his cloak on the hook by the door and took off his wet boots in exchange for his house shoes.

"More like a seven-game winning streak?"

With a smile, he rubbed my belly with both hands and kissed me again, his firm lips cold and dry. "Something like that," he muttered. "How would you feel about another Puddlemere Championship?"

"I think you'd better throw the game or, we'll end up like the Weasleys."

Oliver chuckled and enveloped me in his arms. "Hello, Peg," he said over my head.

"Well, hello," Mum called from the table. She was wearing a tight smile that was trying too hard. "You are just in time for tea, Oliver. Won't you join us?"

Most of the time Oliver left for training and returned home without ever seeing my mum. Clenching my hands in Oliver's jumper, I looked from one to the other. They both wore anxious expressions as the silence stretched on. It could have only lasted a heartbeat, but it felt like an eternity before Oliver finally spoke:

"That sounds like exactly what the Healer ordered. Cheers."

"How do you take your tea?" Mum stood to retrieve another mug. She pulled a blue one down from the cupboard, though it was sitting next the Gryffindor mug that was normally Oliver's.

His eyebrows went up, but he just sat at the table without comment. "With mint and sugar, please."

Frozen to the spot I was standing in, I watched as my mum looked around the kitchen before noticing the small, terracotta pot of mint sitting in the window sill. Plucking two leaves off, she looked at them with a frown, then placed them in the cup. She returned to the table, poured the tea from the pot over the leaves, stirred in a spoonful of sugar, and passed the cup to Oliver.

"Cheers." Oliver looked around. "Sit down, lass, your tea is going cold."

Snapping out of my spell, I joined them at the table.

"Tea going cold?" I used my wand to reheat it. "Am I a witch or not?"

"That would be a handy trick to know," Mum said. "There is nothing worse than when your tea is tepid."

There was a moment of silence. I couldn't help but notice how we were sitting at the table: Oliver on one side, Mum on the other and me in the middle. It was a rather apt, and depressing, metaphor for our relationship. Still, I could see that they were both trying, even if the conversation had devolved into talk of tepid tea.

"Actually," Mum said, "I am glad you are home early."

Oliver leaned forward, his hands wrapped around his mug. "Oh?"

"Indeed. I brought something to show Katie, but I think you'll enjoy it, too. Wait just a tic, and I'll go get it."

Mum hopped up, then disappeared into the other room.

Oliver blew out a long breath, then reached over and rubbed my back. "Relax," he said, though his own shoulders were taught. "Things still going well with your mum?"

"Oh, yes, we had a good day," I replied, and rolled my neck. "The boys have gotten used to having her around, and today's lesson was fun. Mum read them parts of _Treasure Island_ and had them act it out."

"Aye? I loved that book when I was a wee lad. We used to play pirates up on Little Hill."

I cocked my head. Well, my husband really was full of surprises. How was it, after all these years, I didn't know that?

"How do you know a Muggle book?"

"I'm not as dumb as I look."

"I didn't—"

Oliver chuckled. "I'm taking the mickey."

I swatted his arm.

"If you must know," he said and snagged my hand in his, " _Treasure Island_ was Dougal's favorite book. I think Bill Weasley gave it to him their first year at Hogwarts. Dougal had Dad read it to us at Christmas time, then Dougal, Fergus and I would spend hours acting it out. Dougal was always Jim Hawkins and Fergus made me walk the plank about a million times."

"What a lovely story," Mum said as she reentered the kitchen. "I had no idea that you would have even heard of the book when I picked it out. Katie liked it as a girl, but she much preferred _Anne of Green Gables._ "

Oliver slumped back in his chair, a pensive expression on his face. "I hadn't thought of that book in years." He smiled inwardly. "Merlin, we'd had so much fun that Christmas. Dad made us wooden swords… I think they might be in the attic, actually. We should get them out for the lads."

"No," I said, and shook my head. "They'll kill each other."

"Eh, it only takes getting hit once with a wooden sword for you to learn your lesson."

"Says the man who won't have to dry all the tears. And don't you dare tell me that's girl thinking!"

" _That's_ mommy thinking right there," Oliver retorted and dodged when I went to smack his arm. He laughed so that the skin around his eyes crinkled, but sadness tinged his voice when he added, "It's funny the things you forget, isn't it?"

"It is," Mum agreed. Clearing her throat, she set a scrapbook on the table. "Well. I thought the boys might like to see some photos from when their mum was a little girl, but maybe you would like to see them as well, Oliver?"

"Oh, Mum, no," I groaned.

There were photos of me in frilly, pink frocks and ribbons in that soft yellow book emblazoned on the cover with the picture of a kitten in a field. Oliver was quick to pull the album over. Flipping open to the first page, there was a picture of my mum in hospital, cradling a newborn swaddled in a pink blanket.

"She was just 6 pounds 7 ounces, but a noisy one," Mum said with a proud smile. "I could hear her cries all the way from the nursery."

"You didn't have her with you?" Oliver asked, his brow furrowed.

"Not in those days," Mum said. "A friend of mine just had a grandchild, and she said it is very different now. New mums are hardly in hospital a minute before they are sent home." She frowned. "I'm not sure what I think about that."

Oliver flipped through several pages, but stopped when he came to the picture I had been dreading. He looked from it to me with a devilish smile. There I was, just three-years-old and very blonde. My hair was in a mass of tight sausage rolls all around my head that Mum called 'Shirley Temple curls', a pink ribbon finishing it off. In the picture, I wore a short pink dress with several flounces and yards of white lace, my ruffled white knickers hanging out.

"Oh, I loved that dress," Mum sighed, touching the photo. "I still have it, though it's sadly ruined."

"Did you ruin it on purpose?" Oliver asked. He looked at me from the corner of his eye, and there was a twinkle there.

"No!" I denied.

"You might have," Mum admitted. "You hated that dress on sight. I practically had to hold you down to get it on you. We were going to my niece's wedding, you see, and I wanted to show off my perfect English rose—"

"Ugh, not the English Rose bit."

"You were!" She stroked my hair. "You are."

I rolled my eyes, and Mum laughed.

"Regardless," she continued. "Turn the page and you shall see the fate of the frock."

Sniggering, Oliver flipped to the next page which held a picture of me in the same dress, but my curls were sodden and straggling, the bow frayed. There were streaks of mud on my face and down the front of the dress, and the lace was ripped loose.

"That's my Katie," Oliver said, drawing one finger over the photo.

I pulled the album over to examine the photo more closely. "I've never seen this before."

"Oh, your father took that picture. We never even made it into the church, you see. Whilst I was greeting Aunt Beatrice you found a mud puddle and a little boy to wrestle. I was so angry, but your father thought it was jolly fun. Well, he was always indulgent of you. Later, I got that roll of film back and saw that picture. I stuffed it in an old book and never thought about it again. I had the image I wanted…"

Mum looked at her teacup, her hands curled around it.

I reached over and took one of her hands. "Maybe I could clean the dress with magic. I know I could repair the lace."

"Oh, no." She looked at me, then tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. "I think, perhaps I've come to like it just the way it is."

"Thank you for sharing the photo album," Oliver said.

Mum sniffed. "Which reminds me. I need some Muggle pictures of the boys. Your horrible Aunt Calista was over the other day with her equally horrible daughters and I didn't have anything to show them. Her grandsons look like toads, by the way."

I laughed. "I'm sure we can manage that."

Just then, the door banged open with a gust of cold air and a burst of loud babble. The puppy scampered over to the fire, and Oliver got up to go dry him off before Beau tracked all over my floors.

"Mummy, we are freezing!" Bobby said through chattering teeth.

"Shut the door, boys!" I ordered.

"Let's get you undressed then Gram will make you a nice cup of tea," Mum said as she rose from her seat.

Campbell and Bobby were already struggling out of their cloaks. The mildewy smell of wet wool permeated the kitchen as a pile scarves and gloves formed on the floor. I cringed when the boys plopped down on the floor to yank off their snow boots. They're going to have wet bottoms!

Rolling my eyes, I started pushing myself out of my chair. "I suppose I should start dinner."

"Sit tight, lass, I got dinner tonight," Oliver said. He released the puppy who sidled up to the fireplace as close as possible. "Campbell, you'll be eating with us; your mum is on night shift."

"Yay!" Campbell and Bobby chorused. They popped up to run upstairs.

"Oi!" Oliver yelled after them. "Pick up your mess."

Trudging back with long faces, Campbell muttered, "Aye, sir."

"Would you like to join us for dinner, Peg?" Oliver asked, tying on an old flowered apron because he knew it made me giggle.

"Oh, your mother was going to take me home at five," Mum demurred.

"I can take you after dinner if John won't mind you being gone." He was already Summoning a pot from the cupboard.

Mum paused in helping Rory out of his wet cloak. "Well, thank you, Oliver. I think I would enjoy having dinner with my grandsons."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves; they are still wee heathens."

From my chair, I watched my family buzz around me. Rory slid into what was left of my lap, nattering happily.

"Mummy, my baby brother is not good at sharing," Rory complained, as he slipped off my knee. "Tell him to budge up."

Mum laughed as she came to the table with three more cups. "You and Oliver make handsome lads, love."

"Not toads?" I teased.

"Not a wart among them." She bent and kissed first Rory's cheek, then mine.

I couldn't help but smile in the face of my Mum's good cheer.

* * *

38 Weeks

Alright, I'll admit it: I was eavesdropping. Oliver and Alex were in the library for a man-to-man talk, but I didn't want to miss this. The boys were all tucked away for the night. I had strategically excused myself from adult company on an urgent trip to the loo, but instead of going up to my bedroom as I was supposed to, I was peering around the library door, having cast an eavesdropping charm.

"So, I had something important I wanted to speak to you about," Oliver said, clearing his throat.

"Is this another lecture about my love life, Ollie?" Alex said. He was nearly whinging. It always struck me as funny how Oliver could reduce the confident young man to an adolescent boy without even trying. "If it is, may I refill my glass first?"

"Uh, no, it's not. Why? Do you _need_ another lecture?" Oliver asked.

"No. Noooooo. Nope. Dad already took care of that."

Oliver sighed, running a hand down his face. "Alex…"

"Is there any chance that we can pretend that I didn't say anything and move on?"

I stifled a laugh at my poor brother-in-law's expense. Honestly, I supposed I did feel sorry for Alex; he was having a rough time settling into post-Hogwarts life. His chosen profession—broomstick designer—was one that had been his elder brother Fergus' as well. It was a field that was often populated by brilliant and arrogant wizards, but what Alex lacked in those area's, he made up for in hard work and determination. Outside of the office, however, was another story. After his sixth year, Alex's long-term relationship had ended. While it hadn't been particularly messy, it had been complicated. Since then, Alex had gone through men like Honeyduke's chocolate. And those brief flings often were messy.

So, the question was, what had finally moved Cal to pull Alex aside? I had never been privy to one of my father-in-law's lectures, but he was a man of few words and broad wisdom. When Oliver was at his most stubborn, it was only Cal who could make him see sense. However, Cal rarely became involved with matters in his grown sons' lives unless he was asked, or he felt it was time to intervene. Not even Roberta could move him to interfere if he didn't feel it was the right thing to do. Whatever Alex had done must have crossed a line to warrant a lecture from his father.

After a long, heavy silence, Oliver said, "Alex—"

"I'm not you, Oliver," Alex said, going on the offensive. The two of them were side-by-side in the wing-backed chairs; I could just make out my brother-in-law's pensive expression, his hand swiping though the air frantically. "I'm not yet twenty. I still have two more years left in my apprenticeship. I don't want to settle down with one wizard and live happily ever after. At least, not yet."

"That doesn't mean you should be careless with these other men's hearts. I get an earful from Hannah Longbottom every time I pass through the Leaky Caldron. She says you bring your new boyfriends around for drinks and they are all in love with you."

"Can I help that I'm charming?"

"Alex," Oliver warned.

"Okay, okay, you sound like Dad."

"And if you're not serious about them, don't bring them around Red's Wood."

Alex gulped. "Aye, you're right on that one."

There was a long silence. I peered further around the door to better see Oliver's face; it was set in harsh lines, his chin resting in his hand, fingers covering his lips. That was his look of disappointment. He used to give the twins that look after a particularly bad training session at Hogwarts. I wished I could see Alex's face. He was sitting with his elbows propped on his knees, his hands dangling down, and his head hanging low. I almost felt sorry for him.

"So," Alex said, clearing his throat. "You wanted to speak to me about something?"

Oliver sighed. "I'm not so sure now, Alex. We were going to ask you to be the baby's godfather, but…"

"Really?" Alex sat up, running a hand through his hair. "Wow! Ollie…"

"Did you miss the part where I said I wasn't sure?" Oliver snapped. He mirrored Alex's posture, but there was an air of unmistakable aggression around the older brother.

"I'll-I'll get my act together," Alex swore, his hand swiping through the air emphatically. "I'll be more considerate and discreet. I'll set a good example, I swear. This-this means a lot to me."

There was a long silence as Oliver took Alex's measure. The younger man stared back unflinchingly. Finally, Oliver clapped Alex on the back.

"I know," he said quietly. "That's how I felt when Dougal asked me."

"I thought you might ask Catriona."

It was a good thing I had set the charm to carry their voices to me because both men were now speaking in hushed tones.

"We thought about it," Oliver admitted. "Katie and I talked about who to make godparent for a long time, but I wanted you. You're my brother and-and I think that Catriona will understand what that means."

Stupidly, tears were pricking my eyes. I could hear the thickness of Oliver's voice and knew he was thinking of his older brothers. It was from them that he learned what it meant to be a brother, lessons that he tried to pass on to our boys. It was from their example that Oliver had learned to be a big brother to Alex—a responsibility he took nearly as seriously as that of fatherhood. This man I married, he was a far cry from the Quidditch-obsessed boy I knew at Hogwarts. He was changed by the war in ways that few understood, but there was strength in all the places it broke him.

"I won't let you down," Alex said.

There was a long silence, then Oliver said, "I know."

They both sat back in their chairs and Oliver called out, "Okay, Katie, you can come in now."

Dammit.

* * *

40 weeks 3 days

I woke up to the third day of back cramps that morning. The midwife came by daily at this point with the same damn report: I was completely effaced, dilated to three fingers, and I could go at any time. Roberta had all but moved into the house to pick up the slack. I'd had a spurt of energy about a week ago and cleaned from top to bottom and reorganized the nursery two more times, but I'd been nearly useless since then. I was just too big to do much more than chop vegetables while I sat on the kitchen chair.

I could hardly get Oliver to leave the house. He'd had two matches, and I insisted that he play in both. His coach had given him liberty to skip training until the baby was born, so long as his performance wasn't affected. As a result, Oliver had been underfoot all week and worse, cooped up. Like all Wood men, he needed a liberal amount of exercise in the great outdoors or he got stir crazy. Not only was he making me mental, but he was driving his mother mad. Twice already, Roberta had threatened to hex him if he didn't report to Puddlemere for training. Ever the dutiful son, he cleared out.

Unbeknownst to Oliver or Roberta, however, my contractions had grown stronger since the midwife had visited that afternoon. All that jabbing around in my cervix finally stimulated something—really, you'd think in 278 years of practice the woman would have figured out how to make a cervical exam feel less like being rammed in the hoo-ha with the blunt end of an ice pick. Regardless, my contractions were increasing, but I knew I had a while to go yet, so there was no need to turn my husband into an utter madman.

As the evening was coming to a close on yet another day without having the baby, I stood in front of the mirror in our master bathroom. Oliver had bought me a hideous nightgown made of nearly 83 yards of fabric when his t-shirts wouldn't stretch across my belly anymore. Turning to the side, I smoothed my hands over my belly, flattening the voluminous flannel over my shape, to get a better look at my huge midsection. I was so cute when I was pregnant with Bobby, now I just looked like a bloated hippogriff.

That's when it happened. A warm, wet sensation slid down my thighs, soaking my knickers. I gasped, clutching the vanity.

"Oliver!"

My husband's dark head appeared in the doorway almost instantly.

A much stronger contraction gripped me just as I opened my mouth to speak. It was still in my back, gripping my spine, rolling around my sides and tightening my belly. I grunted. Ooh, this would be so much easier if he would get turned around.

Oliver was at my side in one stride, gripping my elbows and offering me support. "This is it."

The contraction passed. I looked up into his dark eyes and smiled. "This is it."


	9. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming Friday...Witch Weekly's Sexiest Wizard Alive.

_5 hours old_

My eyes fluttered open to the dim light of my room. I was pretty sure it was late morning, but the curtains had been drawn to allow me to rest. Oliver was there beside me, propped against the pillows, a little bundle in his arms. I reached out and placed my hand on his thigh.

He looked down at me and smiled. "'Morning, lass," he said softly.

"Is she real?" I asked.

"She is. She is perfect."

I sat up and gingerly scooted closer to Oliver. Leaning my head against his shoulder, I peered down at our daughter in his strong arms. Somebody had put a color change charm on the blue receiving blanket, turning it into the softest pink. Curled around the edge of it, just under her pink chin, were five tiny fingers. I gently stroked them, marveling at the tiny fingernails. My daughter's tiny fingernails. Oliver and I had a daughter. I smiled.

"I forgot how small they are," Oliver said. He leaned his head atop mine.

"I know. I thought the same thing every time I folded the tiny pajamas and rompers. Oh, Merlin, we don't have any girl things. We're going to need frocks!"

Astonished at the idea, I giggled. I would be buying frocks for my little girl.

"I don't think you need to worry," Oliver said with a grin. "Mum and Catriona are over the moon about having a wee lassie to spoil. They are already planning a trip to Diagon Alley. I think we'll have a house full of pink frocks by the end of the day."

"I bet Angelina sends us a Harpies kit."

Oliver snorted but said nothing. He'd sent Angelina and George a Puddlemere jumper when little Freddie was born. It was a case of tit for tat.

"My dad came up to meet her," Oliver whispered. He stroked our daughter's cheek. "He cried."

Oliver was quiet. The only time he'd seen his dad cry was when his brothers died.

"They were happy tears?" I asked.

"Aye," Oliver said, his voice shaky. "I didn't think I would get her back from him. I-I don't think he ever expected to see a wee lassie born to the Wood family in his lifetime. He kept kissing her and my mum and saying what a miracle she was. He was laughing and crying and if I didn't know better I'd say he'd already imbibed a fifth of Firewhisky."

Joy bubbled up inside of me; Oliver and I had created something extraordinary. When Bobby was born, the war had been over for less than a year. We'd still been mourning loved ones, trying to put our lives back together, and into the midst of all that had come this new little life. The first time I had held Bobby had been the first time I realized that the future held infinite possibilities. Hardly two years after Bobby was born, Rory had burst into our lives bringing with him boundless amounts energy and joy. We had called him _Rory_ for a reason for he had truly come into the world with a roar. And now this one… It was silly to say she was special simply because she was a girl, yet it was true. It was as if she were the miracle we never knew we needed.

I looked up at Oliver. "Do the lads know?"

"Oh, aye. Catriona said they finally passed out in her sitting room around midnight, entirely too excited to meet…well, their new brother. But I went around about an hour ago to tell them they had a sister instead."

"How did they take it?"

"They didn't believe me at first." Oliver chuckled. "I eventually convinced them. Campbell and Rory are excited, but Bobby is suspicious of the whole thing."

I snorted. "He would be. I blame you."

" _Me_?"

"You're the one who told him he had to marry Molly when he grew up; he hasn't liked girls since."

"He'll grow out of it, or not," Oliver said with a shrug. "Regardless, they are eager to meet their baby sister. But maybe our little lassie should have a name first?"

"I suppose Euan won't do, will it?" I stared at her for a moment. "Before Bobby was born I thought I might like Gemma or Bonnie. How about Margaret for my mother?"

"Bell," Oliver said. "Her name should be Bell."

The words were said quietly. Oliver was gazing down at our daughter, but when he felt me staring at him, his dark eyes met mine. There was such earnestness in the way he looked at me, such love and gratitude. I never questioned how much Oliver loved me—because I loved him in equal measure—but it was moments like this that it felt almost like a physical thing. A flame that Oliver lit in my heart that kept me warm. I wondered… I _hoped_ that I made him feel the same because I was so utterly grateful that he had given me this family and this little girl. I was thankful that he loved me enough to want our daughter to have my name. My heart ached with how in love I felt when I saw her cradled protectively against his broad chest.

"Belle," I whispered around the lump in my throat. "With an 'e' on the end." I tucked my head against his shoulder again. "Hello, Belle, you have a name now."

Belle's eyes opened—wide and cloudy blue, fringed in long, black lashes. It would be a while yet before we knew what color they would be, but I hoped she would have Oliver's brown eyes. A blonde fuzz covered her pink scalp. Her cheeks were rosy and round, her mouth a perfect bow. She was so pretty.

After a moment of contentedly staring at her parents, Belle began to wiggle in her blanket. She turned her head towards Oliver, rooting at his chest.

Oliver held the baby up so he could kiss her cheek. "I don't think I have what you are looking for, lassie."

Repositioning my pillows, I burrowed back and Oliver laid Belle in my arms. She squawked at me.

"Oh, you," I cooed. "You're a very impatient girl."

I unwrapped her blanket. Her little limbs were moving frantically, not quite sure what to do with themselves. One small fist landed against her mouth, and she tried to suck it, only to let out another indignant squawk when it didn't provide the sustenance she was searching for. Finally, I had my nightgown rearranged and I put her to my breast. In her excitement, her eyes lost focus, and she opened her mouth, but she jerked her head wildly, missing her destination. I tightened my arm around her, cupped my breast in the other hand and guided my nipple into her mouth. I winced as she latched on, but Belle's body went instantly lax against mine as she rested one fist against my chest. Big, blue eyes gazed up at me, the eyelids dropping lower and lower to cover them. Her mouth suckled at my nipple, then I heard the soft sigh of her swallowing.

"She looks like you," Oliver said. He curled around us, one big hand covering mine on Belle's back.

I nestled into him. "I think," I started, "that all of this peace and quiet is getting to me. I miss our boys."

Oliver arched one eyebrow incredulously. "Are you sure?"

"Belle wants to meet her brothers, Daddy."

"I think she is rather blissfully unaware of them at the moment."

I gave Oliver a look from under my eyelashes.

"Okay, okay," he said. "I'll fetch the lads." He kissed me, then placed a soft kiss on Belle's head. "Prepare for noise, lassie."

By the time Belle slipped off my breast, she was fast asleep again. Not even changing her nappie could wake her from her milk-induced slumber. I swaddled her in the pink blanket again so that we were perfectly presentable when the lads came. Just in time, too, as I heard the noisy chatter of boys outside my bedroom door.

"Lads," Oliver said plainly from the other side of the door. "Quiet down, will ya? Lads, shh. LADS!"

I grinned at the sound of my husband bellowing to be heard over the din.

"Thank you," he said when he was finally met with silence. "Your mum and baby sister need their rest. You are to be _gentle_. You are to speak _softly_. No roughhousing. Am I understood?"

"Aye, sir," chorused three little voices.

The door opened to admit three boys with their heads down. Campbell's ginger head was in the lead as usual, Rory's hand clutched in his. Bobby was on their heels, never fitting into the middle brother role with ease. Oliver brought up the rear, sending me a secret smile over the heads of the boys. The moment the door closed again, Rory broke away and climbed onto the bed next to me.

"Daddy says our brother is a girl," he declared, peering at the baby in my arms.

Now that Rory had rushed ahead, the older boys followed. Bobby climbed up on the other side of the bed, but kept his distance, sneaking glances at Belle as if being a girl might be catching. Campbell crowded in behind Rory, a wide smile on his face.

"I believe," Oliver said, leaning against the bed post with his arms folded over his chest, "what I said is that you have a sister _instead_ of a brother."

"Aye," Rory said. "We got a girl. Do you think she'll still want to play with me?"

"Of course," I replied.

"And will she like broomsticks?"

"Well, she's a Wood, isn't she?"

Rory looked up at Oliver. "Is she?"

"Absolutely," Oliver assured him with a nod.

"Oh, well, I guess so." Rory paused. "She can have my toy broom, I too big for it anyways."

I laughed. "Nice try, Ror, but you are not getting a big broom yet."

"Not before me!" Bobby said.

Campbell looked at me shyly. "What's her name?"

I laid the baby on my lap so they could see her better. "This, gentlemen, is your sister, Belle."

Rory immediately tried to poke her in the eyes with his finger, but I was prepared for that and batted his hand away. Honestly, why was a small child's first instinct upon meeting a baby to blind them? Campbell did it with success to Bobby and Bobby did it to Rory. It was amazing that any of them could see.

Rolling his eyes at Rory, Oliver came around and scooped up Belle. She didn't even stir as he supported her head in one large, callused hand and her bottom in the other. He smiled down at her.

"Belle is your baby sister, lads," he said. "We haven't had a lassie born into the family for as long as anyone can remember, so she is very special." He walked around the foot of the bed. "She'll be as strong as her mum and as pretty. She'll fly as well as any of you. And she'll be clever, too." He stood on the other side of the bed now. "But she'll still need her big brothers to look out for her."

Bobby was sitting cross-legged on the bed. He looked up at his father who was looming over him now. Oliver sat on the edge of the bed, staring straight at Bobby. I watched as my husband placed Belle into her brother's arms. Bobby cradled her awkwardly, looking into her face for the first time.

Keeping one hand on the baby, Oliver said, "She'll need someone to make sure she always knows she's protected and loved."

"She needs me to protect her?" Bobby mumbled, his arms tightening around his sister.

"I imagine she'll cause enough trouble to need all of her big brothers' protection. Do you think you're up for the job?"

"I am!" Rory announced, crawling over me to get closer to the baby.

"How about you, Campbell?" Oliver asked.

"She's my little sister," Campbell responded, craning his neck to see Belle better.

Oliver looked at Bobby.

"Her name is Belle?" the little boy asked. "Like Gram and Gramp Bell?"

"Aye," Oliver responded.

Bobby's mouth thinned as he stared at his sister. I knew that look; it meant that he was deep in thought. "What will I have to do?"

"Well," Oliver said. "It's a big job, lad. She'll need a shoulder to cry on when she's sad."

Bobby wrinkled his nose.

"I can do it!" Rory volunteered, bouncing up and down on his knees.

"She'll need someone to tell her it will be better in the morning," Oliver continued. "And somebody to keep an eye on her when she flies too high, to practice throwing a Quaffle with, and probably have tea parties with."

Bobby sighed. "Tea parties?"

"Aye, tea parties. And she'll need somebody to teach her to throw a punch for when the boys start coming around trying to kiss her."

"Oliver," I warned.

"Hush, lass," he said with a big grin. "This is man stuff."

I huffed, crossing my arms.

"So," Oliver said, one hand on Bobby's shoulder. "You think you're up to it, Bob?"

"To love and protect," Bobby said. "It's a big job, Dad, but I can do it."

Oliver and I locked eyes over the heads of our boys. This man, he was going to be a menace as the father of a daughter, but he knew just exactly what to do with our boys. I smiled. The first time I met Oliver was on a Quidditch Pitch. I was 11 and he was 14. I couldn't have possibly known then how that moment would change my life, but as I sat in the snug warmth of my bedroom surrounded by my husband and our children, I was ever so grateful it did.

Early spring sunlight streamed through the windows in pale gold beams that promised warmer days to come. After taking turns holding their sleeping sister, the lads scampered off to play before the fire, their boyish giggles a harmony in the background. Belle lay in Oliver's embrace as he admired our sweet girl. When he looked up, he wore a sheepish smile.

"I think you'll be doing that a lot," I said.

"Can you blame me? She's beautiful," Oliver replied and placed the baby in my arms. "You did well, lass."

" _We_ did well, Wood," I replied.

"And to think, it all started with Quidditch."

I snuggled into Oliver's side, and leaned my head against his broad shoulder. "It always does."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Please leave a review.

**Author's Note:**

> I will be posting a new chapter every other day so watch for more coming soon...


End file.
